Who's 'Bout to Bounce? (2 page)

O
nce upon a rhyme, there were two beautiful, bubble-icious girls named Galleria and Chanel who were the best of friends and the brightest wanna-be stars in all the land. One night, they looked up in the sky at all the real, glittering stars and dreamed of a place where they, too, could shine forever. Under the spell of the moonlight, they made a secret pact that they would find this place no matter how long it took, no matter how hard they had to try Then they would travel all over the world and share their cheetah-licious songs and supadupa sparkles with everyone who crossed their path.

But it wasn’t until Galleria and Chanel banded together with three other girls and unleashed their growl power that they discovered the jiggy jungle: that magical, cheetah-licious place inside of every dangerous, scary, crowded city where dreams really do come true. The jiggy jungle is the only place where every cheetah has its day!

When you put the
C
to the
H
to the
A
to the
N
to the
E
to the
L
, you’ve got one supa-fast Cheetah
señorita
! I mean, Chanel “Chuchie” Simmons is all legs, even though she is only five feet two—which is just a little taller than me. All right, Chanel is
four
inches taller, but that’s not the point.

Right about now, after jogging all the way from Soho, where Chanel lives, up to Harlem, where I live (which is more miles than the Road Runner does in one cartoon episode) the rest of us Cheetah Girls feel like wobbly cubs. We’re desperate for a little shade and some soda!

Chanel, on the other hand, looks like
she’s
ready to do pirouettes or something. Now I can see why she used to take ballet lessons. She’s got “gamma ray legs”!

“Wait up, Cheetah
Señorita
, yo!” I yell to Chanel, just to help her remember that she’s not out here all by herself—that she is running with her crew.
Our
crew, that is. The Cheetah Girls.

Besides Chanel “Chuchie” Simmons, that would be: Galleria “Bubbles” Garibaldi, who is the leader of our pack; Aquanette and Anginette Walker, aka the “Huggy Bear twins”; and, of course, lucky me—Dorinda “Do’ Re Mi” Rogers.

See, not too long ago, the five of us started a girl group, called the Cheetah Girls. You could pinch me every time I say it, ’cuz I still can’t believe we got it like that.

Before I met my crew, I only sang for fun—you know, goofing around at home to entertain everybody. Bubbles and Chanel are the dopest friends I’ve ever had, and I’m so grateful that they got me to sing outside my bedroom.

I met them on our first day at Fashion Industries High School, where we are all freshmen, and it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Before, I was just plain old Dorinda Rogers. Now, I’m Do’ Re Mi, which is the nickname my crew gave me. Do’ Re Mi—one of the Cheetah Girls!

Bubbles and Chanel say we’re gonna take over the world with our global groove. I hope they’re right. For now though, we’re just happy that Galleria’s mom, Ms. Dorothea, has hooked us up with the famous Apollo Theatre Amateur Hour Contest! It’s next Saturday—only a week and a half till we’re up there, performing on that stage where the Supremes once sang. That is so
dope
!

See, Ms. Dorothea is not only Bubbles’s mom—she has now officially become our manager. Our first manager was Mr. Jackal Johnson. We met him at the Cheetah-Rama Club, where we performed for the first time. He tried to manage us on the “okeydokey” tip. That means he was a crook.

When Ms. Dorothea found out Mr. Johnson was trying to get his hands on our duckets (not that we have any yet), she nearly threw him out the window! She doesn’t play, you know what I’m sayin’?

Of course, Ms. Dorothea isn’t out here running with us today, because she is very busy with her boutique—Toto in New York … Fun in Diva Sizes—she runs the store, designs the clothes, and everything.

Aquanette says, “Dorothea’s probably eating Godiva chocolates and laughing at us.”

Word. She should talk! In fact, Aqua and Angie
both
like to eat a lot. If they keep it up, they’re gonna be bigger than Dorothea by the time they’re her age! (Dorothea used to be a model, but now she is “large and in charge,” if you know what I mean!)

“Come on, Do’ Re
Poor
Mi, move that match-stick butt!” heckles Chanel, poking out her tongue and “bugging” her eyes. Chanel is on a jelly roll, and she won’t quit.

See, I can run almost as fast as her, but I don’t wanna leave the rest of my crew behind.

I’m not flossin’. I can dance, skateboard, jump double Dutch,
and
I was the top tumbler in my gymnastics class last year in junior high, so what you know about that, huh?

Jackie Chan’s got nothing on me, either. If I wanted to, I could do karate moves—well, if I had a black belt I could. At this point, I’d settle for a polka-dot belt, ’cuz you gotta watch your back in the jiggy jungle, especially in the part where I live, way up on 116th Street.

We’ve been running for a kazillion miles, and right about now Bubbles is at the end of her rope-a-dope.

“Chuchie, would you quit runnin’ ahead of us? If you don’t stop flossin’, I’m gonna pull out one of your fake braids!” she snarls at the Cheetah
señorita
.

I start giggling. See, sometimes I’m scared to snap on Chanel or Bubbles, because I’m afraid if I do, then they won’t let me be their friend.

Me, I’m just the new kid on the block. It’s okay for them to snap on each other, though, ’cuz they’ve been friends forever—ever since Bubbles stole Chanel’s Gerber Baby apple sauce—so they fight like sisters all the time.

They don’t
look
like sisters, though. Bubbles is very light-skinned, and she has a really nice, full shape. About the only running she likes to do is to the dinner table, or to a party. I wish I had a shape like hers, instead of mine, which looks like a boy’s.

Chanel is more tan and flat-chested, like me, and really skinny, too. But because she’s taller, it looks really cute on her. She’s kinda like a Mexican jumping bean. She’ll eat Chub Chub candies all day on the run, and keep jumpin’.

Anyhow, the reason why we’re out here panting like puppies is not to lose weight. It’s because Dorothea is putting us through this whole “divettes-in-training camp” thing, so we can become a legit girl group, like the Supremes or the Spice Rack Girls. That means we have to do what she says:

We have to run five miles, at least once a week, to build up our endurance and lung power. This way, we’ll be able to sing in big stadiums, and travel on the road without getting sore throats all the time.

We have to take vocal lessons and dance classes.

We have to watch old videos. Once a month, we have “Seventies Appreciation Night,” which means we all get together over at Bubbles’s house, and watch old videos of groups and movies with peeps in
mad
funny outfits.

We have to develop other skills so we don’t end up on the “chitlin’ circuit.” That’s where singers go who don’t even have a bucket to put their duckets in. They end up performing for no pay—they just pass a hat around for tips!

We have to do our homework in school, read magazines, and dress dope, like divettes with duckets.

Chanel’s mother, Juanita, has volunteered to run with us, but she is in better shape than we are and she just runs way ahead by herself. Since she’s a grown-up, we don’t mind. Because she is running ahead of us, she won’t see us making faces, whining, giggling, and snapping on the peeps as we pass them by. Right now, though, we’re too tired to even snap on a squirrel.

Juanita looks kinda funny from the back when she’s running, because the bottom of her feet come up fast, like hooves on a horse, and her ponytail keeps bouncing up and down. She’s kinda tall and skinny for a lady her age. See, she used to be a model, just like Dorothea (but
she
exercises like the Road Runner). Every now and then she looks back to ask us, “You girls all right?”

Poor Bubbles’s mouth is hanging open, and she looks kinda mad, but she never gives up on anything. She just starts snapping. She sweats so much, though—there are droplets dripping down the side of her face, making her hair stick together like gooey sideburns!

The twins are kinda slow, too, but they don’t complain a lot about running. Their minds are on other things.

“Do you really think the Sandman comes with a hook and pulls you off the stage if the audience boos you?” Anginette whines, running alongside me.

The Sandman at the Apollo Theatre is supposed to be this guy dressed like a scarecrow, with a big hook or something, who chases Amateur Hour contestants off the stage if they’re wack.

“You sure he ain’t like Jason from
Friday the 13th
?” Aquanette asks, chuckling nervously. Aqua and Angie are
Scream
queens. They love to watch horror movies with people getting their eyes poked out.

“I don’t know, Angie,” I say, panting, “but if the audience even
looks
like they’re gonna start booing, then I’m gonna bounce,
before
the Sandman tries to hook us!”

“Oh, no, that is too wack-a-doodle-do! And it’s not gonna happen,” Bubbles says, smiling again. “We’re gonna be in there like swimwear.”