Growl Power! Page 2

  “Any minute now—and he’s bringing the High Priestess with him,” I sigh, not looking forward to her royal presence. “If you feel a strong breeze knock you off your feet, I guess that means her broomstick has landed!”

  Chapter

  2

  A few minutes later, we hear Daddy putting his key in the door. We’re glad he is finally home from work, and we give him a big hello. We know that Daddy is under a lot of pressure with his new job at the world’s biggest bug spray company, S.W.A.T. They’re after him to “beef up the bottom line,” he says.

  Walking to the kitchen to get Daddy a glass of eggnog, I chuckle to myself. Maybe some Benjamins will fall from the sky for Daddy, just like that new song Galleria and Chanel have written, called “It’s Raining Benjamins.”

  “Daddy, wait till you taste my latest and greatest ‘Aquanetta-does-it-betta Eggnog’!”

  “Not for me,” Daddy grumbles.

  I can’t believe Daddy turned down my eggnog! I know his High Priestess girlfriend must have definitely put a spell on him, ’cuz Daddy loves my eggnog.

  Daddy plops down on his brown leather reclining chair in the living room. Chanel, Galleria, and Dorinda hightail it back to the kitchen.

  Angie and I just stand there looking at each other. I know she’s feeling the same thing I am—guilty—’cuz Daddy is spending all this money to send us back home for the Thanksgiving holidays. He even let us go to the beauty parlor yesterday to get our nails and hair done for our trip, and I know plane tickets are especially steep this time of year. All that money pressure must be the reason he’s in such a bad mood. I feel like we’ve ruined his holidays!

  Daddy shoves some tobacco into his pipe, lights it, puffs on it a second, then blurts out what’s really bothering him. “I worked so hard on this damn account, and somebody over at Sticky Fingers got wind of my campaign before we put it out. How else can you explain their coming up with the same slogan I created for a flea spray—‘Flee, you hear me?”’

  “Yeah, it sure sounds to me like the devil is working overtime,” Angie offers, nodding her head like she’s listening to Reverend Butter give a sermon at church.

  “Y’all cleaned my blender after you used it, right?” Daddy says, looking right at me and arching his eyebrow like he does. Dag on, he cares about that blender more than he does us! Just ’cuz High Priestess Abala gave it to him as a housewarming present.

  Which reminds me, I’d better remind Angie that she’d better not breathe one word about the High Priestess on a broomstick to Ma, or our Thanksgiving vacation is gonna be ruined.

  “I bet y’all have made a mess of that kitchen, too,” Dad says absentmindedly See, this is the first dinner we’ve actually been allowed to cook by ourselves. “I don’t want y’all spending all night cleaning up—’cuz I know you haven’t packed yet.”

  “No, Daddy, we haven’t,” I mutter. How could we pack, when it took us all afternoon just to fix dinner? We had to go to school, then come home and run to Piggly Wiggly Supermarket and buy the food, then prepare it. How could Daddy ask us such a question—and with our friends in the other room? He can be so mean sometimes!

  “Don’t worry, well get everything done in time,” I assure him.

  “What did y’all make for dinner, anyway?” Daddy asks, his eyes brightening a little. I think he just needed to air all that bug-spray drama to people who care about him.

  “Well, let’s see,” I begin, “we made some honey-glazed turkey legs, collard greens with ham hocks, macaroni and cheese—”

  “Blackened catfish with swamp rice,” Angie chimes in.

  “And gravy!” I add.

  “Well, that sounds real good, girls. Y’all go ahead and enjoy yourselves with your friends.” Daddy looks down at his newspaper like we’re dismissed.

  I look at Angie like, “Can you believe him?” I thought for sure Daddy would at least sit down to dinner with us—seeing as how we cooked it ourselves.

  Looking up and seeing us still standing there, Daddy softens. “Now, you know Abala is coming over, and we’re going to drink her special shakes together. Go on—can’t you see how much healthier I’m looking just from drinking her shakes?” Daddy moves his eyes down to his stomach to make his point.

  Yes, he has lost some weight, I think, but what if he starts disappearing before our eyes?

  Like Big Momma says, though—“One monkey don’t stop the show.” If she ever met the Cheetah Girls, she would really get a chuckle at how true that saying is. No sooner do we sit down at the dining room table than Dorinda dives into the food like a hungry cub who hasn’t eaten in days—and so do the rest of us! Later for Daddy and Abala Shaballa! We are going to eat this dinner, and have ourselves a good time!

  Sucking the bones out of the catfish, I warn my friends, “Y’all be careful and leave the bones alone.” Suddenly, I’m stricken with holiday sadness. I wish Big Momma and Ma could meet the Cheetah Girls. Going home would be so much more fun with them there. Digging into the collard greens, I know better than to say anything. I mean, it wouldn’t take much to turn this crowd into an even glummer bunch!

  “Good evening, good evening, ladies!”

  I turn my head to see the “Holy One” waltzing into the dining room, wearing yet another of her scary creations. I mean, the wrap on her head alone is so high, it looks like it could anchor a catfish boat!

  And what is that—a whole row of teeth around her neck? Suddenly, I realize I’m staring. Catching my manners, I blurt out, “Hi, um, High Priestess. You look nice!”

  “Why, thank you, blessed one, um …”

  Angie breaks out in a smirk, and so do I. I guess we like seeing her squirm, because she still can’t tell us apart. (Angie has a beauty mark on her left cheek and I don’t—but we’re not going to tell her that!)

  “I’m Aquanette,” I say, finally coming to Abala’s rescue.

  “Why, yes, of course,” she says, as her whole kooky coven of friends files into the dining room area. They sort of stand around like they’re uncomfortable, except for the bald-headed one carrying a wicker basket full of strange vegetables I’ve never seen before. I can’t for the life of me remember her name …

  “I hope you Cheetah Girls save some room for our brew,” says Abala Shaballa. “We’ve brought special ingredients just for you.”

  “Well, we’re really kinda full….” Galleria says, looking around at all of us for backup.

  “Yes, ma’am, I don’t think we’re gonna be able to drink any brew tonight,” I say, speaking for the rest of us.

  The High Priestess looks like Chicken Little when the ceiling fell on her—I mean, she really looks panicked! “I—I was really counting on you girls participating in our ritual tonight,” she stutters.

  “I know, but I’m sorry—this is our last night together before we have to go home to Houston,” I explain, feeling kind of bad for her.

  Daddy can drink all of the strange brews he wants, but we are not going to be a part of this hocus-pocus any longer!

  “Could you excuse us for a minute?” Abala Shaballa says, regaining her queenlike composure. She scurries into the living room with her coven behind her, and we can hear them whispering among themselves.

  “What are y’all whispering about?” we hear Daddy asking them. But we decide not to worry ourselves with Daddy and his strange new friends. After all, this is the Cheetah Girls’ last night together in New York for a whole week—and we have plenty to growl about, believe me!

  Chapter

  3

  True to his word, the next morning Mr. Garibaldi drops off a box of chocolate cannolis for us to take back home. Daddy puts the cannolis on the dining room table, and yells for us to clean our room before we go to the airport.

  The way Daddy has been acting, I’m worried that Porgy and Bess, our cherished pet guinea pigs, are gonna be sliced up and put in some Priestess-Pocus magic brew, instead of being fed and loved the way they deserve. Angie and I just don’t trust Abala Shabal
la—especially not with our pets!

  “I’ve got a great idea,” I say, my eyes lighting up. “Why don’t we just bring Porgy and Bess with us?”

  Angie puts her hand over her mouth and starts to giggle.

  “I know we could get in trouble, but I’m sorry—I cannot bear the thought of losing Porgy or Bess! Now, you’ve gotta distract Daddy,” I tell Angie. In my mind, I’m already planning how we’re gonna pull off Operation:. Save Porgy and Bess.

  “We should call Galleria,” Angie says, chuckling, even though we’ve got to be downstairs in five minutes so Daddy can drive us to the airport. But Angie is right—if there is anybody who can pull off a mission impossible, it’s Miss Galleria. That’s what we like about her best—she’s got growl power, as she calls it, and she’s not a show-off. (Well, not exactly!)

  “Come on, help me think of a plan, ’cuz we’ve gotta get this rodeo on the road,” I whine.

  Even though it’s only nine o’clock and our flight to Houston is at noon, you have to check in at the airport two hours before departure—even for domestic flights! What that means is a whole lot of sitting around in the airport terminal for nothing.

  “Why don’t we hide the cage in Daddy’s bedroom, then yell for him to come help us with the luggage?” Angie says.

  “Yeah—then you show Daddy your math homework or something, and ask his advice. While you keep him busy, I’ll bring the cage down and stick it in the van! I’ll get a towel from the bathroom, too.”

  “What’s the towel for?”

  “To cover the cage,” I reply. Sometimes I have to spell things out for my sister.

  I shove Porgy and Bess’s cage into a corner of Daddy’s bedroom. That’s when I notice a few bottles on his nightstand. I know I’m not supposed to be in Daddy’s room, but I walk over and pick up one of the bottles anyway.

  I read the label. Fenugreek? What on earth is this? I feel a chill inside me. I open the lid of the jar and smell it: kinda like some of the herbs Big Momma uses for cooking. I run into our bedroom, and drag Angie back into Daddy’s with me.

  “I bet you he got these bottles from Abala Shaballa,” Angie says.

  “We know that—but what are they for?” I whisper.

  Angie just shrugs her shoulders, and I can tell she’s getting as concerned about Daddy as I am. “He never even used to take an aspirin or anything—now he’s running a spice shop in his bedroom!” I say, shaking my head.

  Because Big Ben is ticking, Angie hightails it back to our bedroom and calls for Daddy to come help us with our suitcases. Once he’s in there with Angie, I creep down the spiral staircase—which is really steep and narrow, so I have to be really careful carrying the cage.

  After I put Porgy and Bess in the van and cover them, I run back inside to the refrigerator to pack a shopping bag of leftover food for our trip. I go back out to the van, place the big brown shopping bag in front of the cage, then check to see if it keeps the cage out of view. It seems Operation: Save Porgy and Bess is ready for Freddy!

  When I go back inside, Daddy says to me, “Make sure to take along all that food you cooked.”

  “I already did,” I say, happy I beat him to it. “I left you some, though.”

  “No need to,” Daddy grunts. “You’d better take it all, because I’m not gonna eat it.”

  I feel the sting in my chest. “Daddy, are you sure you’re getting enough nutrients from those shakes in the blender?”

  “Aquanette, I’m your Daddy, so I know what I’m doing, okay? I can’t even believe I used to eat all that junk.”

  Junk? I know God made turkey legs and gravy for a reason!

  “Abala gave me herbal supplements to take at bedtime—so don’t you girls worry about me. I’m getting all the vitamins and minerals I need.” Daddy smiles serenely at us.

  “Okay, I’ll just pack up the rest of the food,” I say. Fine, if he wants it that way. The more bags in front of Porgy and Bess’s cage, the better!

  When we get into the van and drive off, I give Angie a meaningful look that says we were right to bring Porgy and Bess with us to Houston. Daddy didn’t say one word about taking care of them, and didn’t even notice they were missing!

  To go to Houston from New York City, you have to fly out of LaGuardia Airport, as opposed to JFK, like we did when we went to Hollywood—the most fun experience of our lives, for sure. Suddenly, I think about the Cheetah Girls.

  “A whole week without Galleria, Chanel, and Dorinda,” I mumble to Angie, who is sitting next to me in the back of the van.

  “I’m gonna miss them,” Angie says, sad as she can be. “I feel bad for Dorinda and Chanel especially—’cuz they didn’t seem like they wanted to spend Thanksgiving at home. I wish we could have invited them to come with us.”

  Daddy is lost in his own thoughts, but he hears the tail end of our conversation. “When are you girls gonna perform again?” he asks.

  “We sure don’t know,” I groan. “It just seems like we can’t get a break—sitting around waiting for some record company to tell us what to do. It just seems like forever.”

  “Well, on a happier note, we got here in record time,” Dad says, smiling as we pull up to the Ready Rabbit Airlines entrance at the airport.

  I am so furious. He’s acting like he didn’t even hear what I said! I heave a big sigh. That’s just the way Daddy is, I tell myself.

  I look at my watch. It’s 9:30. It only took us twenty-five minutes to get here! Now we’re gonna have to wait around for two and a half hours! “That was quick,” I say, sure that Daddy won’t notice the sarcastic tone in my voice either.

  Before we get out of the Bronco, he turns to us and says, “Let me give you girls some extra money,” then hands us each a twenty-dollar bill.

  “Thank you, Daddy!” I exclaim, tears coming to my eyes. I suddenly feel terrible again, for thinking such bad things about a person when he doesn’t deserve it. I’ve gotta stop doing that, and Angie too!

  I realize now that we’ve been stupid and selfish, sneaking Porgy and Bess out of the house. Daddy is gonna be piping hot when he finds out, too.

  “You sure twenty dollars is enough money?” he asks, concerned.

  “We haven’t spent one penny of our prize money yet,” Angie says proudly. That reminds me that poor Chanel had to give her money to her mother to pay off her credit card debt. Now I feel bad for her and Daddy.

  With him being so nice, suddenly I lose my resolve for Operation: Save Porgy and Bess.

  “Daddy, we wanted to bring the guinea pigs with us to Houston. Is that okay?”

  “What? Now why do you want to do that?” he asks, getting that mean tone in his voice.

  “Because, um, we’d miss them.” It seems I’ve suddenly lost my resolve to tell Daddy the truth. I know if anyone disses Abala Shaballa in front of him, he loses it completely.

  “Well, they’re home, right where they belong. They’ll be fine,” Daddy says sternly, like he has dismissed me.

  Angie is as quiet as a church mouse. Dag on, she’s never any help when I need her!

  A Ready Rabbit porter comes over to help us with our luggage. “That’s okay,” Daddy says to him briskly. Daddy doesn’t like anybody helping him with anything.

  I feel my heart pounding. Now is as good a time as any to tell Daddy the truth. “Daddy—Porgy and Bess are in the back with our luggage.”

  When Daddy gets mad, he breathes more fire than Puff the Magic Dragon! Without saying a word, he takes our luggage out of the van, then grabs the two shopping bags of leftover food—almost spilling the collard greens on the ground.

  “I’ll get it!” Angie says, like a little scaredy-cat, running after the plastic container that is rolling away down the sidewalk.

  “I’m raising two daughters without their mother’s help—I can certainly take care of a pair of guinea pigs,” Daddy says, emphasizing the words like he was talking about a bunch of rodents he had to kill with S.W.A.T. flea spray!

  “I’m so
rry, Daddy,” I say, tears coming to my eyes. I look over and see that Angie is about to cry, too.

  Daddy frowns, then sighs. “Ah, go ahead and take them with you,” he says, putting the cage on the luggage cart and pushing it inside. “Let them be your headache, not mine.”

  Well, we’re just fine with that. Fine, that is, until a Ready Rabbit Airlines representative comes up to Daddy and says, “That will be seventy-five dollars for the pets, sir.”

  “Oh, I won’t be paying for it,” Daddy says. “They will,” he says, pointing to us.

  The representative turns to Angie and me. “If you plan on bringing your pets on board, ladies, you’ll have to pay an additional seventy-five dollars.”

  I almost start stuttering, I’m so upset. “I’ll pay it,” Angie says, whipping out her wallet.

  I can feel Daddy’s gaze on us, but I’m too scared to look at him. I reach into my backpack and take out my bottle of air-sickness pills. I’m already feeling airsick, and we’re not even off the ground yet.

  I hand one to Angie, too, and she pops it into her mouth. Last month, when we flew to Hollywood with the Cheetah Girls, Angie and I were so excited we forgot to take our pills. We ended up throwing up everything. It was so embarrassing!

  “Bye, Daddy,” Angie says, after she’s parted with most of her prize money and we’ve been checked in. Bye, Daddy, is right. And bye, prize money, too.

  When we finally reach Porgy and Bess’s storage space, which is almost at the tail of the plane, I set the cage down on its rack. “I hope you two enjoy the ride—’cuz it sure cost enough,” I tell them.

  “I bet our tickets cost a whole lot more than seventy-five dollars,” Angie reminds me as we walk back to our seats in the middle of the plane. “Come on, let’s forget about it. We still have some spending money left. Let’s just pray that Galleria, Chanel, and Dorinda have a blessed Thanksgiving.”

  We sit down, buckle up, and Angie takes my hand. Like we do every time we fly, we hold hands now, and say a prayer until the plane takes off.

  When we’re finally airborne, and we can see the big, white fluffy clouds that look just like cotton balls, we let go of each other’s hands and breathe a deep sigh of relief.