Dorinda's Secret (9 page)

“We got into the competition!” she yells, and then starts taking deep breaths to calm down.

“Word!” I say, bugging my eyes, 'cuz now I'm getting amped, too!

Chanel comes outside to meet us, and Galleria puts on the same cheetah-certified show. “
Hola
, granola! Weeza in the house, weeza in the house!”

Chuchie starts jumping up and down, screaming. She doesn't even ask what Galleria is talking about. Sometimes the two of them communicate without saying a word, you know what I'm saying?

Even though I'm happy, I feel that stabbing pain in my chest again—you know, kinda like my heart is cracked in pieces. Those two are bound till death, the dynamic duo, yo. They're just letting me be part of
their
crew. They're more like sisters than any sister I'll ever have, I bet.

All of a sudden, Chanel starts hugging me too. Whew. That makes me feel a little better, like I'm part of our crew after all. I take a deep breath, and wait for Galleria to give us the details about next Saturday.

“It's a good thing we just performed in the New Talent Showcase,” Galleria says excitedly, “‘cuz we are definitely ready to battle with Freddy—”

“Or any divette with a microphone—'cuz when we 'rock it to the beat, it's rocked to the doggy bone,'” Chanel joins in, singing the lyrics from Galleria's song “Woof, There It Is.” I join in for a chorus, as we walk to Mo' Betta Burger on Eighth Avenue to get our grub on.

When we get there, Galleria fills us in on the “Divette” scoop. “We have a microphone check at three o'clock Saturday and the doors open at seven P.M.”

“Are the divettes representing from other places?” I ask, curious. See, when we performed in Def Duck Records' New Talent Showcase in Los Angeles, they had groups from all over the country.

“No doubt about the East Coast clout,” Galleria says, nodding her head. “This is a regional contest, but the competition finals are gonna be held in the Big Apple, too, you know what I'm saying? Because they're not playing—they know the winner is probably gonna come from the East Coast.”

Galleria bops along with a satisfied smirk. She is so sure that we are gonna blow up our spots. “We have to be there at six sharp for the performance.”

“We'll be there or be T-square,” I say, bopping along, too.

“What are we gonna sing?” Chuchie asks.

Oh, no, I think. Here we go again, with the drama over who gets to write our songs.

“Why, Chuchie?” Bubbles asks. “Have you written one we should memorize overnight and perform on Saturday,
so we can lose the competition
!” Like I said, these two are like sisters, Galleria can tell when Chanel has a few hedgehog tricks up her sleeve.

“What happened?” Chanel exclaims, like she always does when she gets flustered. “No, I haven't written any songs,
babosa
, but I thought maybe we could sing the one we wrote together—‘It's Raining Benjamins.'”

Actually, Galleria told me that Chanel only wrote one line in the whole song, but I can't blame Chanel for trying. She just wants to feel like she has “Big Willy” skills too.

“Chuchie, we
are
going to perform ‘It's Raining Benjamins'—but not on Saturday. We need more time to practice it and work out a routine or something.” Galleria crosses her arms in front of her, like that's the end of the conversation.

The big bulb from above goes off in my head again. “Yo, check it, remember what Aqua said? Maybe we should throw money on the stage for ‘It's Raining Benjamins'—like the Cash Money Girls did at the New Talent Showcase,” I suggest. “We could come up with some dope choreography and everything, right?”

“Do' Re Mi has a point. That sounds like the joint,” Galleria says, looking at Chanel like, “Give it up,
mamacita
.”

“
Está bien
,” Chanel says, twirling her hair, then breaking out in a mischievous grin. “You're right. We should wait.”

That grin reminds me of Tiffany. It's the same exact look! I'm about to burst out laughing. But then, the chill comes back, and I force myself to get my mind on the game plan at hand.

Galleria hugs Chanel, and I can see they have squashed their beef jerky for now. Then Galleria lets out a rally like she's in Cali: “We're not having a ‘Nightmare on 125th Street' again—this time, we're bringing the noise, 'cuz we're poised!”

Chapter 8

W
hen I get home, Mrs. Bosco tells me that Tiffany phoned and asked for me. “Dorinda, what's the matter, baby? You didn't like her?” Mrs. Bosco asks, because she sees the troubled look on my face.

“No, she was nice,” I reply. I don't want to bad-mouth Tiffany for no reason. She
is
nice, and I feel sorry for her, 'cuz she
needs
a big sister or something. I could tell that she was kinda lonely. “I just feel strange about the whole situation.”

What I don't want to tell Mrs. Bosco is the truth—that I'm mad at her. I know it's not all her fault—she can't read or write, so she probably doesn't know what's in my records—but I
feel
like it's her fault anyway.

“Mrs. Tattle says my mother is white,” I blurt out.

“I guess so,” Mrs. Bosco says. I try to figure out if that means she didn't know, or that she can't believe it—like me.

Mrs. Bosco starts coughing—
badly
. I get scared that she's getting sick again. She was hospitalized for acute bronchitis last summer, and she hasn't really recovered from it. I don't want to get her upset now or anything.

She sits down on the couch in the living room, keeping the tissue held up to her mouth. “You know, it wouldn't hurt you to spend some time with that child,” she says, talking through the tissue.

“Okay,” I say. “But I can't this week. I have rehearsals every day for the competition on Saturday.”

“You got another show?” she asks, her eyes getting brighter.

“Yes,” I say, smiling because I'm so excited about it. At least the Cheetah Girls are still in the running, in more ways than one, you know what I'm saying? “It's called ‘Battle of the Divettes' competition,” I explain.

That makes Mrs. Bosco chuckle, and that makes her start coughing again. I decide to shut up, but she keeps egging me on. “Where's it gonna be?” she asks.

“It's at the Apollo Theatre,” I say, and then wait for her response. Mrs. Bosco felt so bad for me when the Cheetah Girls lost the Amateur Hour contest.

“Never mind what happened last time,” she says, reading my mind again. “Remember what I told you then—one monkey don't stop no show.”

I smile, because I know how she loves me. I just hope she doesn't get sick. If I ever lost Mrs. Bosco, I don't know what I would do—not to mention all the other foster kids in our house.

“They ain't gonna have that Sandman fool onstage again,” Mrs. Bosco says, her eyes twinkling. The Sandman is the one who pulls groups offstage when the Amateur Hour crowd boos them.

“No, I don't think so,” I tell her. “But they are gonna have a lot of judges.”

“Lord, I don't know which is worse,” Mrs. Bosco says, wanting to laugh but not daring to 'cuz she might start coughing again.

“The winner of the competition gets to compete in the finals, then
that
winner gets to appear on the television show
The Grade
,” I say, talking slowly so she can follow what I'm saying.

Mrs. Bosco nods her head. “They sure make you dance around like a monkey with a tin cup full of pennies before they give you anything, huh?”

Now it's my turn to laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“I left that child's number on a piece of paper in the kitchen,” Mrs. Bosco says, looking at me like she wants me to call Tiffany.

“Okay. Um, I'll get it later,” I say, to avoid talking about it anymore. “I have to go down to Chanel's house now for rehearsal.” I get out of that room before she starts in on me to call Tiffany.

I'm in my bedroom, getting everything I need to go downtown with, and I'm thinking things over. I wonder why Tiffany called me. Maybe she wants to be like real sisters, calling each other all the time, getting all involved with each other's lives.

Well, that may be fine for her, but I don't know if I'm really ready to let a new sister into my life. I've already got all these kids in the house with me who I love, and take care of. And I've got my crew—which brings me to the other thing. How are they gonna react when they hear I have a white sister? Would they accept her if she started hanging around with us?

See, Galleria's an only child, Aqua and Angie don't have any other brothers and sisters, and Chanel's only got her little brother Pucci, who just turned nine. It would be way different if Tiffany were there at our rehearsals—she's almost my age!

Which is another thing—Tiffany knows how old I really am! What if she told my crew? Would they still even want to be friends with me, let alone let me stay in The Cheetah Girls?

And what if Tiffany decides she wants to be
part
of the group? I don't think my crew is gonna be down with taking on any new members, let alone Tiffany!

So I'm standing there, fretting about all this stuff, when Twinkie runs over and hands me a cookie. “Thank you,” I say, giving her a big hug.

“Can I come with you?” she pleads.

“It's just a boring old rehearsal,” I say, so she won't feel bad. “Guess what—when I come home later, we are gonna do our own Cheetah Girls rehearsal! Would you like that?”

“Yeah!”

I hug Twinkie again. One day, I want her and all my brothers and sisters to come to a big stadium, sit in the front row, and watch the Cheetah Girls perform. But not yet—not while we're still divettes!

When I walk into Chanel's house, her little brother, Pucci, practically grabs my arm out of its socket. “You gotta see Mr. Cuckoo!” he exclaims.

Pucci is so cute—he's got that big gap in between his two front teeth, and the Cupid's bow on his upper lip—and that same jumping-bean energy like Chanel. You can't help smiling at him all the time.

“Come on, I'll show you,” he says, dragging me into his bedroom, which is inhabited by a tribe of Whacky Babies stuffed animals, who look like they're ready to pounce off the shelves!

“
There
he is!” Pucci says, pointing to the cage in the corner of his room, where I see the African pygmy hedgehog I helped Chanel pick out at the exotic pet store for Pucci's birthday.

I bend down to check out Mr. Cuckoo. “Wow, Pucci, you hooked him up—Cuckoo is definitely chillin' in his new crib!”

Pucci grins. I see a book peeking out from under the bedspread on his bed. Dragging it on the floor, I read the title:
Harry Henpecker's Guide to Geography
. It's the book Pucci's father gave him for his birthday. I flip through the pages and look at all the places around the world I wanna see.

“You can have it if you want it,” Pucci offers.

“No, that's all right,” I respond. I feel bad for him. I know what it's like to get presents you don't want. When I first got to Mrs. Bosco's, Mrs. Parkay sent me a present on Christmas. It was some stupid stuffed giraffe, and I threw it in the corner behind the Christmas tree, because I didn't want anything from her. Besides, what I really wanted was a doll wearing pretty clothes.

The doorbell rings, and I hear Aqua's and Angie's voices cackling away. “I gotta go, Pucci, we have rehearsal now.”

“You gonna go to the Apollo again, right?” Pucci asks.

“Yeah.”

“How come they let you back in there, if you already lost?” he asks, his eyes opening wide. I chuckle, realizing he doesn't understand.

“That was the Amateur Hour contest we lost, Pucci,” I say. “Now we're gonna perform in the ‘Battle of the Divettes' competition. It just happens to be at the same place, but it has nothing to do with the Apollo—you understand?”

“Oh,” Pucci says, fiddling with his computer. “You gonna have Cheetah Boys now? Can I be in the group?” Pucci flashes his mischievous grin so I know he's angling for a dangle—a cheesing skill he learned from his older sister, no doubt.

That's all we need. Pucci in the group, with Tiffany, too—and throw in Twinkie for good measure. “Who knows?” I joke to Pucci. “Maybe Cuckoo will come onstage and perform with us, too—you know what I'm saying?”

“Yeah, right,” Pucci says, smirking.

“I'm not playing, you know what I'm saying?”

I hear Chanel calling me, so I run to the exercise studio, where we usually rehearse.

“Hi, Aqua. Hi, Angie,” I say, hugging the twins. I don't get to see them as much as I see Chanel and Galleria, since we don't go to the same school. They're all wrapped up in talking about going home to Houston for Thanksgiving. I can definitely tell they're excited about it.

“I wish Daddy was coming with us, though,” Angie says, kinda sad. “We're scared to leave him here with that High Priestess girlfriend of his.”

“I know that's right,” I chime in. I met their father's girlfriend, High Priestess Abala Shaballa, and she does seem to be tripping in another galaxy, if you know what I'm saying.

“There's plenty of time to worry about looking good in the 'hood, Miz Aquanette,” Galleria says cheerfully, tapping her foot like she's ready to get down to the business at hand. “‘There's always a new day in the jiggy jungle,'” she starts singing, “'so let's not bungle our chance to rise for the prize, and show you who we are, in the jiggy jiggy jungle—'”

We all sing along, since that's what we're here for—rehearsing our act, you know what I'm saying?

I'm so tired by the time I get home from Chanel's house that I head straight to my bedroom. Today's rehearsal was exhausting—not only running through all our songs and dance routines, but having to keep my mind off everything that's happening in my personal life. I'll tell you, if I didn't have Saturday's competition to think about, I'd be going loony right about now.