It's Raining Benjamins (13 page)

“Oh, wow, what is it?” he exclaims excitedly, even though he doesn't know what kind of animal he's looking at. He pulls the cage out of the box carefully, and stares at Mr. Pygmy, completely transfixed.

“He's an African pygmy hedgehog,” I say proudly, then look over at Mom to see if I should start packing and moving out yet.

She doesn't say a word, though.

“Wow, it looks like a—”

“Porcupine?” Bubbles asks, interrupting him.

“Yeah!”

Bubbles tells me with her eyes to take over.

“It's not a porcupine, because porcupines are rodents, Pucci. It's, um, related to moonrats,” I explain.

“Wow, that's cool!” Pucci says, completely fascinated. He opens the cage door gingerly, and attempts to take Mr. Pygmy into his hands.

“Be careful,” I warn. “He'll roll up into a ball and expose his spines when he's frightened.”

“Oh, okay,” Pucci says—but he doesn't seem to be afraid of Mr. Pygmy at all.

“He won't shed hair or anything so, um, you can't be allergic to them or anything,” I say, looking at Mom with pleading eyes.

“Well, I hope you're gonna help him take care of it—because I'm not going to,” Mom huffs. Making a face, she gets up to get a Coke. That means she's upset, because she only drinks soda when she's upset. She would be afraid of the calories otherwise. As she pours the drink, she cuts her eyes sharply at me.

“What are you gonna name him, Pucci?” Bubbles asks.

“Cuckoo Cougar!” Pucci blurts out.

Cuckoo Cougar?! What a
stupid
name!!

“Oh, that's a nice name,” Bubbles says, but I know she doesn't mean it. “We'll call him Cuckoo for short, okay?”

“Okay,” Pucci says, smiling, as he puts Mr. Pygmy back in his cage.

Cuckoo
. That's what
I'm
gonna call him anyway. Him
and
Pucci. Cuckoo one and cuckoo two!

At last, Pucci picks up the present Dad gave him, and rips off the paper. It
is
a book—and from the look on Pucci's face, I realize it's a book that
he
doesn't
like
.

Pucci holds the book in his hand and stares at the cover, then throws it on the floor! “I don't want this!” he says, pouting.

I can't believe Pucci! I run over and pick up the book, and look at the cover. It says,
Harry Henpecker's Guide to Geography
.

What was Dad thinking? This is the kind of
boring
book they always make us read in school!

Pucci runs over to Abuela and puts his head on her shoulder. He really is a big crybaby.
How could he hurt Dad's feelings like that
?

But I already know the answer. Pucci is very angry at Dad for leaving us. Poor Pucci—he doesn't realize that it has nothing to do with him. He doesn't care that Dad and Mom don't love each other anymore—he just wants Dad to live with us again.

I get up from the floor and go to sit by Dad. He doesn't say anything for a long time. Then, very calmly, he says, “You said that Pucci doesn't read anything, and I was just trying to help.”

“I understand, Dodo,” Mom says, looking embarrassed. I can tell she wants to yell at Pucci, but she feels bad for him because it's his birthday.

“Pucci,” Mom says sternly, looking at my brother. “
Papí
is going to get you another birthday present, okay?”

“
Don't
tell him that!” Dad blurts out. I can tell he is getting
caliente
mad, because his eyes are getting red, and he's breathing fire.

“Okay, I'm sorry,” Mom says. “But it wouldn't hurt you to get him something else.”

I can't believe how nice she's being! I'm so glad it's Pucci's birthday—otherwise, they'd be throwing pots and pans at each other by now!

“If he weren't so spoiled, he would appreciate any present that he got. I didn't get any presents at all when I was a child,” Dad says sternly. See, he and Auntie Lulu were secretly smuggled out of Cuba when they were kids. After that, they never saw their father again. I can tell it still hurts Dad.

He gets up very slowly, and tells Abuela that it's time to go. Mom doesn't say a word while they get their coats.

“I love you,
Papí
,” I whisper in his ear, then kiss him good-bye. He hugs me tight. I hug Abuela tight, too—she's so very precious to me.

“
Gracias Dios
,” Mom says when Dad and Abuela are gone. Shaking her head, she gets up and goes into the den.

Mom
never
talks in Spanish, so I know she must be very upset. She probably is going to call Mr. Tycoon now, and talk for hours and hours.

Pucci wipes away his tears, then goes over to the cage and picks up Mr. Pygmy. “Chanel, I like your and Bubbles's present the best.” Then, quickly, he turns to
Madrina
and adds, “Yours, too, Auntie Dottie!”

“I know, darling—don't think I feel bad,”
Madrina
says, picking up her glass of soda. “I can't blame you, Pucci. Nobody wants to read schoolbooks on their birthday! You'd think we could just forget about that drama for at least one day!”

I smile at Bubbles. She turns to Pucci and says, “Next time someone gives you a present you don't like, you shouldn't hurt their feelings, Pucci.”

“Okay,” Pucci says. I guess he feels bad now for acting like a spoiled brat.

“Just pretend you like it. Then, later, you can toss it in the giveaway pile in the closet and recycle it!”
Madrina
says.

Bubbles and I look at each other and laugh—because once,
Madrina
forgot that Mom gave her a navy blue scarf for Christmas, and she gave it back to Mom the next year. Her “recycling rodeo” backfired!

I hug Pucci. I know how much it hurts to be disappointed—especially now that I'm part of the Cheetah Girls, and our lives have turned into a roller-coaster ride. One day, we're up and flying high, the next day we're screaming our heads off as we descend to the bottom.

“You're not such a bad sister after all,” Pucci says, cracking a smile for the first time since Dad left.

“You wanna come and see my room?” I ask him. I
never
let Pucci come into my room, because he is so nosy.

“Okay,” he says, and I can tell he's happy I asked him.

Bubbles follows us. “I'm gonna stay over,” she says, hugging me.

“Great!” Pucci says, because he really does love Bubbles—I think even more than he loves me.

Pucci, Mr. Pygmy, Bubbles, and I all lie on the bed together.

“Are you really gonna make songs together?” Pucci asks me. Mr. Pygmy's little body is cupped in his right hand, and Pucci is tickling him.

“Yeah, Pucci, we
are
gonna make songs together,” I say, without looking up at him. “Bubbles, can you believe we're getting a chance to record songs for a real record label?”

There is silence for a second; then Bubbles blurts out, “Yeah, I can't believe it! I just pray to God that they don't have us recording songs like the ones Pumpmaster Pooch made us do.”

I wince at the memory of the producer we worked with for a Minute Rice moment. Mr. Jackal Johnson, our former manager, teamed us with Pumpmaster Pooch and put us in a studio. We recorded songs that made us sound like a pack of gangsta hyenas!

“
Gracias gooseness, Madrina
got us out of that one,” I say, sighing. “What was the name of that song we recorded for them? It was
horrible
.”

“‘I Got a Thing for Thugs,'” Bubbles says, without missing a beat. “If Def Duck Records makes us record songs as wack as that, Chuchie, the Cheetah Girls are gonna rent a hot-air balloon—and head off to OZ!”

Giggling, I lay my head on Bubbles's shoulder and say, “You always said we were gonna follow the yellow brick road, no matter where it leads.”

All of a sudden, I remember the dream I had—the one with me and Bubbles flying with an umbrella. And I also remember Princess Pamela's prediction—that good things were gonna start happening. “I don't think we're gonna need that hot-air balloon, Bubbles,” I tell her.

“Why?” Bubbles asks.

“'Cuz I just heard a weather report in my head—
it's gonna be raining Benjamins
!”

It's Raining Benjamins

The Cheetah Girls Glossary

Adobo down:
Mad flava.

Antipático:
Dodo. Lame. Pain in the poot-butt.

Babosa:
Stupid.

Bacalao:
Spanish codfish.

Beeneh:
Romanian for “good.”

Benjamins:
Bucks, dollars.

Bobada:
Baloney.

Bugaboo:
Pain in the butt.

Cerveza:
Beer.

El pollito:
Acting like a chicken.

Está bien:
Okay, get it?

Gnocco:
Italian for “blockhead.”

Goospitating:
Nervous.

Gracias gooseness:
Thank goodness!

I'm so over this:
Fed up to the max.

La dopa:
Dope-licious.

La gente:
Peeps, people.

Lonchando:
Spanglish for lunch.

Madrina:
Godmother.

Madrino:
Godfather.

Montagna:
Mountain—or a diamond ring as big as one!

Off the cheetah meter:
Beyond cheetah-licious. Off the hook. Supa-dupa chili.

Pata de puerco:
Idiot. Leg of a pig.

Poot-butt:
Someone who is a pain or has a funny-looking booty.

Que puzza!:
Italian for “what a stinky-poo.”

The spookies:
A nightmare. The willies.

Un coco:
A crush.

Vampira:
A vampire.

Wait for the bait:
Wait for the right moment to pounce on an “op”—an opportunity.

Acknowledgments

I
have to give it up to the Jump at the Sun peeps here—Andrea Pinkney, Lisa Holton, and Ken Geist—for letting the Cheetah Girls run wild. Also, Anath Garber, the one person who helped me find my Cheetah Girl powers. And, Lita Richardson, the one person who now has my back in the jiggy jungle. Primo thanks to the cover girl Cheetahs: Arike, Brandi, Imani, Jeni, and Mia. And to all the Cheetah Girls around the globe: Get diggity with the growl power, baby!