Who's 'Bout to Bounce? (10 page)

“Dorinda, that’s the whole idea. This is so you won’t get any cellulite,” Aqua pipes in.

“How am I gonna get something that I don’t even know what it is?” I exclaim, sucking my teeth. How did Aqua know what it is, anyway? She’s such a show-off.

“Cellulite is that lumpy cottage-cheese-looking stuff that girls get on the back of their thighs,” Aqua says, pointing to her butt.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Aqua and Angie are making this stuff up as they go along. “Where’s Bubbles and Chanel?”

“They’re in the, um, other—” Angie hems and haws.

“Super cellulite treatment room,” Aqua joins in.

“Please try,
mademoiselle
,” the attendant begs me.

“Okay, but
mademoiselle
doesn’t like this one bit,” I moan, giving in to what I have a feeling is somebody’s idea of a Cheetah Girl joke.

“You have to stop talking now,
mademoiselle
,” the French lady whispers in my ear. “For all of the impurities to leave your body, it requires absolute silence.”

She wraps this Saran Wrap stuff around me—so, so tight that I swear
I’ll
be leaving my body soon. Then she seals me in the pod, and turns on a dial. Just what I need. Some science project experiment gone wrong!

I lie there, wrapped in plastic like a sandwich in the fridge. Suddenly, I feel real sleepy, like my body is being deprived of oxygen or something. As I doze off, I swear to myself, if I grow up and have cellulite after this, I’m gonna sue—guess who!

When I wake up, I’m the only one in the room with the French nurse lady, who peers up her nose at me over her little glasses. When I get some more duckets, I’m gonna buy Mrs. Bosco nice little glasses like that.

Yawning, I wonder how long I’ve been in this “invasion of the body snatcher” pod, but I’m definitely ready to bust out.

“C’est bien, mademoiselle?”

“No,
mademoiselle
is not all right.” I moan. At least that gets her hopping like a hare, and soon, I’m out of the Baggie. I’m so happy to be back in a robe, just chilling.

But before I know it, the nurse has covered my face with a gucky banana-cream facial mask, and my eyes are covered with cucumber slices! I’m beginning to feel like an appetizer, if you know what I’m saying!

“Now what?”

As I try to recline in the chair and relax, I wonder—why am I always in a room by myself? I thought this was supposed to be fun. You know, the Cheetah Girls sitting around in some big bubble bath all day, talking and giggling.

Why do ladies do all this stuff, anyway? It’s
boring
. I don’t know how long I’m leaning back in the reclining chair, looking like a moonpie, before I finally hear the voice of the mischievous one.

“Do’ Re Mi, can’t you see how boot-i-full you look?” says Galleria. The nurse removes the cucumber slices, and I see Bubbles, Chanel, Aqua, and Angie standing over me, giggling.

“Was I sleeping again?” I ask them. I’m so annoyed, I don’t think I’m ever gonna get a facial, or even wash my hair, ever again.

“Like Sleeping Beauty,” Chanel says.

“It’s time to bounce,” Bubbles says, standing by while the French lady helps me off the table and hands me a glass filled with bubbles.

“This will help replenish your epee-dermis,” advises the French lady.

“What’s an epee-dermis?” Angie asks.

“It’s the top layer of your chocolate skin, missy,” Bubbles explains.

“Ooh, epidermis,” Angie says, sucking her teeth. “We don’t just sit around and sing all day at school, Galleria. Sometimes we have classes, and study things like
biology
.”

“Let’s all go over Dorinda’s house, and eat popcorn, and watch
Scream
,” Aqua says, interrupting her sister—and looking straight at
moi
.

“Are you crazy? The only ‘scream’ you two are gonna see at my house is all my brothers and sisters doing it for real,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Well, we already called your—um, Mrs. Bosco, and she says it’s okay if we come over,” Angie volunteers.

“No way,” I say, looking at all four of them like I’m gonna pounce. “We’re not going over my house.”

“
Sí, sí
Do’ Re Mi,” quips Chanel. “We’re there baby!”

“Word, I don’t know what y’all have been drinking, but I’m not having it, okay?” I say, changing back into my clothes—
finally
!

When we finally get outside on Broadway, Bubbles announces that we’re taking a taxi, because we’re late.

“Late for what?” I ask.

“Um … you know that show we watch on television?” Aqua chimes in. “Aqua—what’s the name of that show we watch on Saturdays?”

“Dag on, don’t
poke
me,” Angie whines, rubbing her arm. “I can’t remember.”

“Taxi!” Bubbles yells loudly. She runs to the curb, and waves her hand in the air.

In the Big Apple, the yellow taxis fly by faster than Can Man with his shopping cart. I’ve been practically run over by them more than once. But Bubbles knows what she’s doing. She stands on the edge of the curb, waving and tilting way forward. Then she quickly leans back whenever a car zips by. A real native New Yorker.

“Let’s take a ‘gypsy’ cab!” Chanel giggles, making a joke on Princess Pamela, but Aqua and Angie don’t get it.

“What’s a gypsy cab?” asks Aqua, squinching up her nose. We all heckle. We love to tease Aqua and Angie because they’re kinda, well, Southern. They’ve only been in New York since last summer, and they don’t know the ways of the Big Apple.

Chanel explains the gypsy snap to her, and then Bubbles explains what a gypsy cab
really
is: “The seats are always dirty in the back, and they always have some smelly pine freshener stinking up the whole car. You only take ’em when you’re desperate, or when your hairdo is gonna flop from the sopping rain.”

“Oh,” Aqua says, nodding her head, then laughs, “How you know ‘Freddy’ or ‘Jason’ ain’t driving the cab, though?”

“’Cuz they wouldn’t pick
you
up!” I throw in. “They’d be too scared of you, the way you two scream!”

We all start screaming—“Aaahhh!”—imitating Aqua and Angie last Halloween, when they screamed so loud, all the kids were seared of
them
.

“We’re in!” Bubbles says, motioning us to hop in a yellow taxi. Since we’re heading downtown from 210th Street, the first stop is gonna be my house on 116th Street. Then the taxi can keep going downtown and drop off the twins at 96th Street before taking Bubbles and Chuchie home.

When the taxi pulls up in front of the Cornwall Projects, though, Bubbles, Chanel, Aqua,
and
Angie jump out, and hightail it to the entrance of Building A, where I live.

“Come on, y’all, I already told you—you can’t come to my house,” I whine, slamming the taxi door. How’d they know which building I lived in, anyway?

“Oh yes we can,
Señorita
, ’cuz Mrs. Bosco invited us.
Está bien
?” Chanel says, leaping along like a ballerina.

Suddenly I realize the danger I’m in. Never mind that my house is small and crowded. What if my foster mother slips, and says something about the Mo’ Money Monique tour? Mrs. Bosco probably thinks I’ve already told my crew about it.

Panicking, I run as fast as I can to warn her, but Chanel is hanging on to my jacket for some reason. I pull at it, trying to get free. I can’t have my secret come out. Not yet!

“Do’ Re Mi, we don’t care if you don’t live in a palace. Leave that to Princess Pamela!” Chanel says. Then she gives me a
really
tight hug, while ringing my bell with her free hand.

“Chanel! Let go of me!” I giggle. “Why are you ringing my doorbell when I have keys?”

Mrs. Bosco opens the door, and me and Chanel fall on top of her. Except, I’m not so sure it’s my foster mother. It doesn’t really
look
like her. She looks …
better
, if you know what I’m saying.

“Hi, baby, we’ve been waiting for you.”

I would know that voice in a tunnel. It’s my foster mother, all right—and if I still had any doubts, she starts coughing into a tissue.

But look at the pretty flowered dress she’s wearing. And I like her new wig—it’s nothing fancy, just a nice soft brown, with curls.

And she’s wearing
makeup
! My foster mother
never
wears makeup.

Now I know why she looks so different. She doesn’t have a mustache anymore!

“Mrs. Bosco, you look
really
nice,” I say.

Bubbles starts heckling. “You should have seen what we had to go through to wax her mustache!”

This sends everyone into a fit of giggles. “We told her we had a surprise for her,
está bien
?” exclaims Chanel. “Then we blindfolded her, and Bubbles put the wax on her upper lip—then pulled it off while me, Angie, and Aqua held her down!”

“When did you do all that?” I ask, surprised.

“While you wuz getting cell-yoo-leeted!” Angie says, beside herself with laughter.

Then I look around at the crowd of people in the living room. I hadn’t noticed them all at first—and they start yelling, “Surprise!”

I mean, all of my brothers and sisters—including Monie the Meanie—Dorothea and her husband, Mr. Garibaldi, Ms. Simmons, and even some people I don’t know! Everyone is standing around like they’re at a party Even Mrs. Gallstone from down the hall is here.

I
really
don’t get whazzup with this situation. I mean, it’s not my birthday. And then it hits me. Oh, no!
They already know my secret!

If I wasn’t so young, I think I would have a heart attack. My heart is beating so fast, I’m still not sure I won’t be the first twelve-year-old to have one—and get written up in the
Guinness Book of World Records
. I’m not lying.

Mrs. Bosco must have told everybody that I’m going on the Mo’ Money Monique tour! That’s what this party is all about! I could just scream. How could she do this without asking me? I’d like to read her right now!

But instead of saying what I want to say, I hear myself blurting out, “Look at all the pretty flowers.”

Then my eyes feast on the long banquet table that Mrs. Bosco always borrows from Mrs. Gallstone when we have a party. It’s filled with all my
favorite
foods—fried chicken, potato salad, collard greens, rice and beans, black-eyed peas, corn bread, and one, two,
seven
sweet potato pies! Too bad I’m not the least bit hungry.

But wait a minute. If everybody knows I’m going on tour, how come they’re not all upset? They’re being so nice, even though I’m leaving them.

I feel so sad. Look at all the trouble they went to for me! And I was about to yell at them! I flop down in a kitchen chair, like a scarecrow stuffed with straw. I don’t deserve all of this. I feel so stupid—like Chanel did when she got caught using her mother’s credit card.

“You and my mom did all this?” I ask, looking at Bubbles, Chanel, Aqua, and Angie.

“Yep. The body snatcher contraption was Princess Pamela’s idea. We got you
good
,” Aqua says proudly. “And me and Angie helped Mrs. Bosco cook all this dee-licious food just for you.”

“Oh, no, honey—it’s for us, too,” Angie counters, “ ’cuz you know I’m hungry after all that tea tree oil!”

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t forget about my Italian pastries,” Mr. Garibaldi adds, waving his hand.

“Yeah, that’s right. Dad made Chuchie’s favorite—chocolate-covered cannolis!” Bubbles says, beside herself.

I heave a huge sigh. All this beautiful food. Too bad I’m not the least bit hungry. In fact, I feel sick about everything.

I look around the room, and I see people I don’t even know. Who is this tall man with a mustache? Who is the tall woman with the African fabric draped around her, and a turban that almost touches the ceiling?

The man catches my look. “Dorinda, I’ve heard so much about you from my daughters, and I’m, quite honored to be here. I’m Mr. Walker,” he says, extending his hand to me.

“Oh,” I say smiling. It’s Aqua and Angie’s father. He looks like a successful businessman, all right.

“And this is my girlfriend, Alaba.”

She looks like a model from some African tribe or something. I wonder what her name means? I’ll have to look it up in the
Boo-Boo
name book. Aqua is behind her, making a face.

Galleria isn’t finished talking. She puts a hand on my shoulder, and points the other one at my foster mom. “I want you to know that, even though we helped put it together, throwing the adoption party was always Mrs. Bosco’s idea.”

Adoption party
? Did Bubbles say adoption party?

Now I need
my
ears poked with a Q-Tip dipped in peroxide, ’cuz I must be hard of hearing, like Corky. “Did you say, ‘my adoption party’?”

“Mrs. Bosco has adopted you, silly willy Do’ Re Mi!” Bubbles blurts out.

So
that’s
why Mrs. Bosco was asking me all that stuff by the subway the other day. And that’s how they all knew each other—they were planning this whole party together, complete with the visit to Princess Pamela’s to get me out of the way!

I burst into a round of tears that would make the Tin Man in
The Wizard of Oz
squeak. Mrs. Bosco has
already
adopted me! I have a
real mom
!

“Dorinda, look at you, you’re going to ruin all the effects of that delicious banana cream pie facial mask!” Dorothea says. Coming over to hug me, she pulls a leopard-print tissue out of her pocketbook. I notice that she’s crying, too. “You don’t know how happy I am for you,” she says.

“Thank you, Ms. Dorothea,” I say through my tears. I look across the room at my crew, who are all beaming at me. They all love me, I can see that. Look at the trouble they went to for my sake. How can I keep on lying to them?

I can’t.

“I’m so sorry to be leaving all of you,” I say.

“Huh?” Ms. Dorothea says. “What’s this about leaving?”

“It won’t be forever,” I say. “Just for a year. As soon as the tour is over, I’ll be back, and we’ll be better than ever, I promise.”

“Tour? What tour?” Galleria asks, looking at me, puzzled.