Hey, Ho, Hollywood! Read online

  Hey, Ho, Hollywood!

  The Cheetah Girls, Book 4

  Deborah Gregory

  For my brother, Edgar Torres,

  The cheetah-licious “E.T.”

  Ah, yeah, that’s he

  Rocking on a thing called the M.I.C.

  The M.I.C., well, that’s a microphone

  And when he rocks it to the beat,

  It’s rocked to the doggy bone!

  Contents

  The Cheetah Girls Credo

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  More Pounce to the Ounce

  Glossary

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Cheetah Girls Credo

  To earn my spots and rightful place in the world, I solemnly swear to honor and uphold the Cheetah Girls oath:

  Cheetah Girls don’t litter, they glitter. I will help my family, friends, and other Cheetah Girls whenever they need my love, support, or a really big hug.

  All Cheetah Girls are created equal, but we are not alike. We come in different sizes, shapes, and colors, and hail from different cultures. I will not judge others by the color of their spots, but by their character.

  A true Cheetah Girl doesn’t spend more time doing her hair than her homework. Hair extensions may be career extensions, but talent and skills will pay my bills.

  True Cheetah Girls can achieve without a weave—or a wiggle, jiggle, or a giggle. I promise to rely (mostly) on my brains, heart, and courage to reach my cheetah-licious potential!

  A brave Cheetah Girl isn’t afraid to admit when she’s scared. I promise to get on my knees and summon the growl power of the Cheetah Girls who came before me—including my mom, grandmoms, and the Supremes— and ask them to help me be strong.

  All Cheetah Girls make mistakes. I promise to admit when I’m wrong and will work to make it right. I’ll also say I’m sorry, even when I don’t want to.

  Grown-ups are not always right, but they are bigger, older, and louder. I will treat my teachers, parents, and people of authority with respect—and expect them to do the same!

  True Cheetah Girls don’t run with wolves or hang with hyenas. True Cheetahs pick much better friends. I will not try to get other people’s approval by acting like a copycat.

  To become the Cheetah Girl that only I can be, I promise not to follow anyone else’s dreams but my own. No matter how much I quiver, shake, shiver, and quake!

  Cheetah Girls were born for adventure. I promise to learn a language other than my own and travel around the world to meet my fellow Cheetah Girls.

  Introduction

  Once 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!

  Chapter

  1

  The plastic slipcover on the couch makes a real loud crunch sound when Galleria sits down. Me and Angie are used to the funny noise so we pay it no mind, but Galleria looks kinda embarrassed like she farted an “Alien egg,” or something strange like that. Me and Angie just look at each other and smile because we’re probably thinking the same thing. That’s how it is when you’re twins—you can read each other’s mind, finish each other’s sentences, and know when each other is “lying, crying, or testifying,” even when you’re not in the same room.

  My sister Angie and I are as much alike as any identical twins you’re ever gonna meet. When we stand together looking in the mirror, it’s almost like we’re two of those alien clones in horror movies (which we love).

  I remember way back in sixth grade we fooled both our homeroom teachers by switching places on April Fools’ Day. We didn’t get into trouble, but we did get called to the principal’s office. Still, “the Fabulous Walker Twins” pulled the best April Fools’ Day joke that school ever saw! We go to high school in New York City nowadays, but we have not been forgotten. I guess you can’t blame them for never putting identical twins in the same class again after that!

  Now that we have turned thirteen (our birthday is September 9, which makes us practical-minded Virgos), Angie and I don’t always dress alike anymore—which makes it easier to tell us apart. But even when we do put on the same outfit, you can tell I’m Aquanette. I’m the one who’s always running my mouth. Anginette is more the quiet type. But as Big Momma says, “She doesn’t miss a trick.”

  Big Momma is our maternal grandmother, and she loves to brag about us—even to ladies in the supermarket! “I can’t tell which one of them is smarter or cuter sometimes,” she’ll say. Or, “You know they’ve been singing like angels since they were cooing in the cradle.”

  That’s not exactly true. I think we started singing when we were about three years old. Anyway, Big Momma says, “Singing is a gift from the Lord.” Well, nobody else in our family can even hold a note, so it must be true.

  And I guess we’re kinda cute: Angie and I are both brown-skinned, with nice “juicy” lips and big brown eyes. Still, we’re not real pretty, like the rest of the Cheetah Girls—that would be Galleria “Bubbles” Garibaldi, Chanel “Chuchie” Simmons, and Dorinda “Do’ Re Mi” Rogers. That’s right—Angie and I have only just moved to New York, and here we are, already in a singing group!

  Angie and I met Galleria and Chanel at the Kats and Kittys Klub Fourth of July Bash last summer. It was right after we moved to New York from Houston, leaving Ma, Big Momma, and all our cousins behind. We woulda been real lost if it hadn’t been for our fellow Kats and Kittys.

  In case you’ve never heard of it, the Kats and Kittys Klub is this national organization for young, up-and-coming African Americans. They do lots of things for the community, and we used to go all the time back home. So we were real happy to join the metropolitan chapter in New York City, and that they were havin’ a Fourth of July bar-b-que. It was our first chance to meet kids our own age in the Big Apple.

  So there we were, singing up a storm by the barbecue grill, when Chanel and Galleria started looking at us real funny. I guess we were kinda showing off. They were the prettiest girls we had seen in New York, even though Galleria wasn’t very friendly to us at first. Luckily, Chanel was, and now we’re all real good friends and singing together.

  We can’t wait till Ma meets Galleria and the rest of the Cheetah Girls—which may not be anytime soon. See, she and Daddy are getting a dee-vorce, and Ma remained in Houston, while Daddy moved up here to New York.

  Of course, Daddy sent for us to come live with him, so he could keep an eye on us. He feels that Ma can’t properly supervise us. See, she’s a regional district sales manager for Avon, and travels quite a bit for her job. Daddy used to be her boss, but you knew that wasn’t gonna last long, because he can be real hard on people.

  Even though he’s real hard on us, too—making us do our vocal
exercises and clean our rooms every night—we know he loves us. And we are real glad he let us invite our friends over here tonight.

  That’s right—he told us we could invite the Cheetah Girls over! This is the first time we’ve had company in New York. And the only reason Daddy said okay is because his new girlfriend came over, too.

  Her name is High Priestess Abala Shaballa Bogo Hexagone, and believe it or not, she really is some kind of priestess from some far-away place we never even heard of (even though we don’t really know what a High Priestess is for sure). Angie and I don’t like her much, but Daddy sure does. She’s real tall and pretty, so I guess I can understand why.

  Anyway, she came over today with her … well … friends, if that’s what you want to call them. If you ask me, they are some of the strangest people you’d ever want to meet. And tonight, they’re cookin’ up some kind of spooky ritual for the Cheetah Girls!

  I told my friends all about this at our last Cheetah Girls council meeting. But they thought I was just joking! Well, I wasn’t, and they’re about to find that out!

  See, as a singing group, we’ve only performed together once—at the Cheetah-Rama club last Halloween night. It was a lot of fun! I think the Kats and Kittys liked us, and we got paid, too! We even got a manager out of it—but Mr. Jackal Johnson turned out to be a crook.

  Still, even though we haven’t performed much, we’ve got the biggest night of our lives coming up. Tomorrow night, the Cheetah Girls are performing at the world-famous Apollo Thee-ay-ter! Angie and I have never been there before, but we’ve seen it on television, so we know it’s real big, with a lot of seats and bright lights and everything.

  Don’t get me wrong. We’re just performing in the Apollo Theatre Amateur Hour contest—but we’re still real nervous about it. Most of all, we’re real scared about the Apollo Sandman. He is this kooky guy in a clown outfit who pulls you off the stage if people start booing at you!

  So High Priestess Abala invited her friends over here to conduct this ritual to give the Cheetah Girls more “Growl Power.” That’s what she said. It sounds okay, till you get a good look at what they’re doing back there in the kitchen. They’re all standing around this table preparing stuff and jabbering something or other. And believe me, they are a weird collection of folks. I’ll tell you, I don’t know who I’m more scared of—the Sandman, or High Priestess Abala and her friends.

  While they’re all back there makin’ their “witches’ brew,” Galleria is putting on a show in our living room. (Chanel and Dorinda are on their way over, too. They’re just late.)

  “Well, Miss Aquanette and Anginette Walker, that’s downright plummy that you finally invited me to your house. Well, you Southern belles are just so swell!” Galleria says, fluttering her pretty eyelashes, and mocking Angie and me.

  She loves to do that, and we think it’s kinda funny, how she can find a way to rhyme almost anything. We know she’s just playing with us, though, because we have a lot of fun together. There is nobody back home in Houston like Galleria Garibaldi. As Big Momma would say, “They threw away the mold after they made her.”

  Next year, we hope Galleria and the rest of the Cheetah Girls are gonna transfer to our high school. See, they’re freshmen at Fashion Industries High, but Angie and I go to LaGuardia High School of Performing Arts. It’s very prestigious and all, so we’re real lucky to be going there. We had to come to New York just for an audition, then go back home, all the way to Houston, and wait to see if we got accepted!

  Angie and I just can’t wait till the kids in our school see the Cheetah Girls singing together. They’re gonna be so jealous—especially JuJu Beans Gonzalez, who’s in our vocal and drama classes, and thinks she’s the next Mo’ Money Monique, just because she can rap and wiggle her shimmyshaker.

  Angie and I don’t dance that good, but still, we’ve got the shimmyshakers to do it, if we try real hard. That’s all I’m saying. And we sing better than JuJu Beans does, even when we have colds (Angie and I always get sick together, too).

  JuJu treats me and Angie like corn bread bakers, or something “country” like that, just because she has never been to Houston. Houston is beautiful—even Galleria’s mom, Ms. Dorothea, says so.

  Anyway, we’ve got all year to convince our teachers to let us perform together as the Cheetah Girls for LaGuardia’s big June talent showcase. We’ve been praying on it, and God always gives us an answer (even though most of the time it’s not near as quick as we’d like!).

  Galleria is acting like company. She sips her lemonade all dainty, then places the glass on its coaster on the coffee table—like it’s Aladdin’s lamp or something, and she’s afraid all the wishes are gonna fly out of it!

  Then she sits back on the couch with her legs tight together and her hands on her knees—just like some of the New York ladies sit in church (like they don’t belong in the house of the Lord, or they don’t know how they’re supposed to sit in the pew).

  “Dag on, Galleria, you don’t have to be so proper. You can just be yourself,” I heckle her, then throw Angie another glance. After all, we have seen the real Miss Galleria, and believe us, she does just as she pleases.

  Now Galleria’s eyes are moving around the living room like a pair of Ping-Pong balls. “Those drapes look like they belong in the Taj Mahal,” she says, like she’s amusing herself at a porch party down South, or something fancy like that.

  The drapes are kinda nice, though. They’re ivory chiffon, with a scarf valance that has fringes, just like the panels.

  Daddy decorated the living room himself, right down to the plastic slipcovers—and he’s real proud of it. The big glass coffee table has a brass lion base, and the only thing we’re allowed to keep on top of the glass is a big white leather-bound Holy Bible. Then there’s a big white shag rug shaped like a bear, lying in the center of the floor. The head has real ivory-looking fang teeth—we checked his mouth with a flashlight!

  Daddy keeps his new snow globe collection in a big white wooden case with glass partitions. The snow globes are on the top shelves, and the bottom shelves are lined with his precious collection of LP albums—not CDs, but real records of people like Marvin Gaye, the Supremes, the Temptations. Daddy says he’s invested too much in his record collection to start buying CDs now. When we were little, if we ever messed with Daddy’s records, or broke one, he would get real mad at us.

  “Holy cannoli, we got records like this too—but Momsy keeps them in storage, where they’re just collecting dust!” Galleria says, laughing. “We could play Frisbee with one of these!”

  She pretends to toss the vinyl record at me, but she knows better, because she’s real careful putting it back into its jacket. Even she can tell Daddy is real particular about things. That’s why he keeps the sofa and sectionals covered in plastic—“because the fabric is a very delicate imported ivory silk,” he says. So nobody ends up sittin’ on the couch but company.

  Even Daddy, when he sits in the living room, sits in the big brown leather reclining chair—so he can watch the big television, which is behind a set of wooden panels. The couch just sits there, showin’ off, “no use to nobody,” as Big Momma used to say. But this is Daddy’s house now, and he decorates it like he pleases.

  One thing is for sure—our house in New York (we call it a house even though it’s just a two-bedroom duplex apartment) is decorated real different from the way Ma decorated our house in Houston. Daddy likes everything to be white, ivory, or brown, which are his favorite colors. Ma liked peach, and green, and blue colors.

  Before I start making myself jittery again—about tonight and tomorrow night—the doorbell rings. Thank God, it’s finally Chanel and Dorinda. After quick kisses and hugs, Chanel becomes fascinated with our house too.

  “Ooh, qué bonita! My abuela Florita would love these,” she coos, pointing to Daddy’s prized collection of snow globes. (That’s her grandma she’s talkin’ about. That’s how they say it in Spanish.)

  “Abuela just l
oves the snow here. She’ll go outside on her stoop and sit there all day, waiting for snowflakes to hit her on the nose!” Chanel takes the castle snow globe and shakes it up and down, to see the snow fall.

  “Daddy just started collecting those. It’s really kinda strange,” I explain, my voice trailing off as I start to think how much Daddy has changed since he moved up here to New York.

  “Aqua, what’s wrong with collecting snow globes?” Dorinda asks.

  Galleria has finally jumped up from the couch, now that Chanel and Dorinda are here. “Your daddy’s probably fascinated by the snow we have here in ‘New Yawk,”’ she says with a laugh. “Wait till he experiences his first snowstorm—he’ll be throwing those things out the window!

  “My dad used to love the snow,” she goes on. “When I was little, he would get more upset than I did if it didn’t snow before Christmas. Then we had that majordomo snowstorm a few years ago, and it completely covered my Dad’s van. He sat at the window for three days, cursing in Italian till he could shovel his van out!”

  “It’s not just the snow globes,Galleria,” I say, exasperated. “That was only the beginning. Then he bought a blender—”

  “What’s wrong with a blender?” Chanel asks.

  “Now everything he eats comes outta that thing!” I say, exasperated.

  Chanel bursts out laughing, which makes Galleria and even Dorinda smirk.

  “I wish I had a blender,” Dorinda says, narrowing her eyes at me, which almost makes her look like a real cheetah. “Where I live, I’ve got to chop up all the vegetables by hand.” Dorinda lives in an apartment with about ten foster brothers and sisters. Bless her heart. I wouldn’t trade with her for nothing in the world. Lucky for her, her foster mother just adopted her—so at least she knows she can keep on living where she is, instead of going to another foster home.

  Galleria is still riffing about Daddy’s blender. “Oh, snapples, he blended apples, and now Aqua thinks he’s gonna turn into Freddy!” Galleria snaps, doing the Cheetah Girl handshake with Chanel.