Oops, Doggy Dog! Read online

  What did I ever see in the Red Snapper? I guess I liked the attention. But now that I’ve met Eddie Lizard, Derek can flap his stupid snapper someplace else!

  * * *

  After homeroom, Chuchie and I decide it’s better to hightail it out of the classroom than to stick around for a flack attack with Derek and his crew. But I should have known Derek would try to reel me in. He always does.

  “Hey, Cheetah Girl,” he riffs, fumbling with the deep-sea pockets on his baggy-to-the-max jeans with the logo JOHNNY BE DOWN scribbled on the pockets. I look over and smile, and that’s when I notice something new around his neck: Derek is sporting a gold nameplate with his initials—D.U.H.—in big script letters.

  “You like it?” Derek asks, catching me eyeing the merchandise.

  “It’s so loud I almost can’t hear you,” I snap back, smirking.

  “Check out my new moon watch,” Derek says. Oblivious to my snap, he flashes his wrist at me. “It’s from Apollo 13—qualified by NASA for space missions.”

  “Well, I guess you’re ready for takeoff any day now, huh?” I say, squinting my eyes.

  “Yeah, looks that way,” Derek says, flashing his gold teeth. “Oh, remember that fashion show I modeled in—Mad Millennium?”

  “Yeah. How could I forget those designs by ‘up and coming’ students at Fashion Institute of Technology?” How could I also forget that after the fashion show Derek had the nerve to kiss me on the cheek and ask me out on a date? “Someone needs to call the fashion police and have you thrown in fashion detention,” I snap.

  “Arrest me, yourself, Cheetah Girl,” Derek says, crossing his hands and thrusting them in front of me.

  “Never mind, we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Like getting ready for our studio session,” I hiss at Derek, who is really getting on my nerves.

  “Oh? Last I heard, the Cheetah Girls had run off looking for some hyenas to play with,” Derek says, confirming my suspicions. So he is the one flapping his lips about us around school.

  Grabbing Chuchie’s arm, I give Derek one last morsel of remorse. “Yeah, well, it looks like we found them!” And then we’re out of there, before he even figures out what I said.

  “Mr. DUH” may have loose lips, but Little Ms. Fierce got the last word this time!

  Chapter

  4

  Chuchie, Dorinda, and I hop on the #1 train uptown to meet Aqua and Angie at their school—LaGuardia Performing Arts Annex, on 68th and Amsterdam. This way, we can catch the crosstown bus together to go to Ricky’s Urban Groove and check out their digable wig collection. I think Aqua and Angie will start “thinking pink,” after they see how ferocious we look in the wigs.

  We keep our eyes peeled for the twins’ matching press-‘n’-curl bobs to surface in the rowdy crowd pouring out of their overcrowded school. “There they are.” Dorinda points to the twins, who are wearing denim jackets and jeans.

  “Hey, y’all!” Aquanette exclaims.

  “Wow, you go to school with all these peeps?” Dorinda says, squinting her almond-shaped eyes and looking up at Aqua and Angie. Dorinda is the shortest of our crew. She’s not even five feet tall.

  “Well, we don’t all sit in the same classroom, if that’s what you mean, Miss Dorinda,” Angie explains. “Ooh, look, ’member that girl we told you about?”

  “Which one?” I ask.

  “JuJu Beans Gonzalez.”

  “Oh, right, the next Mo’ Money Monique,” Dorinda remembers.

  “Yeah—and she wants to be a diva ’fore she can even spell it.” Angie shakes her head.

  “Well, she sure looked like she saw a ghost when she heard we were going into the studio with Mouse Almighty,” Aquanette says triumphantly.

  Angie hoists her book bag. “Where we going now?”

  “Well, I told you that we should go into the studio and rock it to the doggy bone with a new look,” I begin.

  “That sounds good,” they say in unison, nodding their heads. I always wonder how they do that. I guess it comes with being twins.

  “Wait till you see what I have in mind,” I say.

  “Well, I sure hope this ain’t a wild-goose chase, ’cuz we have lots of homework to do, plus clean the whole house,” Angie says seriously.

  “What’s up with that?” I ask. “The whole house?”

  “You don’t understand, Galleria,” Aqua says, coming to her twin’s defense. “Daddy is on our tail all the time now that he’s his old self again.”

  Mr. Walker’s ex-girlfriend, High Priestess Abala Shaballa Hexagone, put a love spell on him, to steal his love for life. Luckily, the twins came home early and peeped the witchcraft situation. They called me and Chanel, and we got Eddie Lizard to call in his father, the famous Doktor Lizard, who is a bona fide hoodoo practitioner. He uncrossed the spell. And that’s the whole hexarama.

  Now that their father is unhexed, it seems things are back to normal in the Walker household. See, their father is kinda strict, like a military officer. He has very specific tasks for the twins, and a new schedule every day.

  As we’re getting on the 68th Street crosstown bus, Aqua brings up a sore subject. “How is Eddie Lizard?” she asks. I can hear a twinge of jealousy in her voice.

  “I wouldn’t know,” I sigh, plunking my MetroCard into the slot on the fare box. “He hasn’t called me all week, and I’m not chasing after him like a little lost cub.” (I’m thinking about doing just that, actually, but I’m sure not gonna tell Aqua!)

  “Well, he didn’t seem like he was worth the bother, anyway,” Aqua says.

  “Oh, yes he is,” I hiss, defending him. “You’re just green with Gucci envy!”

  All five of us get quiet as clams. We’re standing on a crowded bus, and we don’t want everybody to know our business, so we pretend our beef jerky is squashed.

  “Guess who’s gonna be a daddy?” Chuchie tells the twins, getting excited. After we finish telling them all about our escapade with Mrs. Brubaker and Buffy, Angie asks, “You sure he’s the daddy?”

  A lady with a baby carriage looks up at Angie and smiles. I get embarrassed, because I know she thinks one of us is pregnant. But that’s not going to happen to me until after I’m famous and live in a castle. For true!

  “Why, yes, Miz Anginette, Mr. Toto is going to be a proud daddy indeed,” I say, imitating the Southern accent the twins brought north from Houston.

  “What’s gonna happen to the puppies?” Angie asks excitedly.

  “Well, that’s what my mom is gonna find out,” I say.

  We fall silent again, and suddenly, this tune pops into my head out of nowhere. I start whistling it, and the other Cheetah Girls pick it up, nodding and smiling. Everybody looks at us as we start humming it together in perfect harmony. It’s amazing how easy it is for the five of us to get in that groove together.

  After we let the melody die down, we get real quiet for a minute. It’s almost as if we’re all thinking the same thing—and three of us are not even twins!

  “I wonder what kind of songs Mr. Mouse Almighty is gonna have us recording,” Angie says, a concerned look in her eye.

  I know what she’s worrying about. The twins are very religious, and they’re particular about what kind of songs we sing. They definitely don’t wanna do anything too “bootylicious,” if you know what I’m saying.

  “Yeah, what if he picks songs for us that are really wack?” Chanel asks.

  “Don’t worry,” I assure my crew. “Mouse Almighty knows what he’s doing. He’s produced joints for Kahlua Alexander, Karma’s Children, Sista Fudge, and In the Dark.”

  But to tell you the truth, I’m worried, too. Mouse is definitely the real deal as a producer, but how do we know he’ll really get our global groove? See, we Cheetah Girls have our own special vibe—and I’m not just saying that because I’m the main songwriter and leader of the group. Truth is, we don’t look, sound, or act like any other singers. We have our own way of singing and harmonizing. Mom says that’s what sells reco
rds, and if it’s true, then we should sell them by the bushels, ’cuz we have “growl power” to the max!

  I know I shouldn’t ask Mouse Almighty if we can record my songs—but why not? I know our groove better than he does. It’s a question that’s been on my mind for weeks, but I keep it to myself. I don’t wanna make Chuchie jealous.

  See, she wants to write songs for us, too. Trouble is, she doesn’t really know how. I let her help me with this one song, and she’s been pushing ever since to write some more. I don’t want to make her feel bad, but Miss Cuchifrita has a lot to learn in the songwriting department.

  “Well,” I tell my crew, “if we don’t like the songs he picks, we have to say something, okay?”

  “I heard that,” Dorinda says, nodding in agreement.

  “Even if it means not recording a demo, that’s what we’ll do—’cuz we’re not going out like that,” I decide right there on the spot. Nobody argues with me, though Chanel looks like she wants to.

  Angie gasps when she sees all the stuff in Ricky’s window. “Wow—how come we ain’t got a store like this in our neighborhood?” The twins live on 96th and Riverside. It’s definitely a lot quieter up there, with tree-lined streets and chirpy birds.

  “Just hold your breath. I’ll bet you the ‘Urban Groove’ is coming your way any day,” I exclaim, walking into Ricky’s like I’m stepping inside my very own groove factory.

  Aqua and Angie zone right in on the hair-care section. They love spritzes and sprays even more than Chanel does. “So far so good,” I whisper into Chuchie’s ear as the twins scamper around, oohing and aahing at everything. “Now let’s see if the twins are down for the ‘do.’”

  I can’t believe Mom even gave me the money to buy a wig. I guess she’s just as happy about us getting into Mouse’s studio as we are. While the twins are oogling over racks of fairy dust glitter in little pots, I ask to try on one of the wigs.

  “You have to put on a wig cap before trying one on,” the salesgirl informs me.

  “Oh. I don’t happen to have one in my backpack,” I tease her, hoping she’ll let me slide.

  “Well, you can buy one for ten dollars.”

  “Ten duckets?” I respond in disbelief. “They should be ten dollars for a dozen.”

  Now the rest of my crew is on drama alert, so I turn to them and say, “Listen up, chicklets, we gotta make a mad dash to my house for a Minute Rice moment.”

  “What for?” Aqua asks.

  “To borrow five of my mom’s stocking caps.”

  “What do we need stocking caps for?” Angie asks. The twins are always a little slow on the uptake, but I’m used to it by now.

  “So we can try on wigs.”

  “We’re not wearing those wigs, are we?” Angie asks, gasping in disbelief.

  “Yes, ma’am, we are! We’re gonna at least try them on, to see if they show off our spots.” I walk out the door so we can move this caravan along to my house, and all the time, I’m talking to my crew over my shoulder.

  “Remember when we saw the Ike and Tina Turner videos, and the three Ikettes were swinging and flinging their hair like windmills? That added a lot to their act, you know what I’m saying?” I know Mom would agree with me. See, once a month we have Seventies Appreciation Night. We watch videos of all the old-school performers, so we can study their acts and learn musical history. It’s part of our Cheetah Girls “boot camp” training.

  Angie and Aqua nod their heads in agreement and keep quiet. See, the twins are definitely the best singers in our group—that’s why they got into LaGuardia Performing Arts Annex. On the other hand, they know that Chuchie, Dorinda, and I have mad flava in the style department. That’s why we go to Fashion Industries High.

  Still, I can see they’re not happy, and I know it’s gonna be a hard job getting them up to speed with the program. “I thought those wigs in the window were just for decoration and stuff,” Angie finally says. “We’re gonna look funny in them. I mean, people already make fun of our Cheetah Girls costumes as it is.”

  “Peeps who aren’t down with our flavor aren’t the fans we savor,” I hiss, which shuts Angie up for the moment.

  Getting off the elevator and walking down the hallway to my apartment, I’m tempted to knock on Mrs. Brubaker’s apartment. “This is where Buffy lives,” I whisper, then peep through the peephole, which makes my crew giggle.

  “Who’s there?” Mrs. Brubaker yells through the door.

  “Oh, snapples!” I shriek, then hurry up and get my door keys out of my cheetah backpack—but not before Mrs. Brubaker flings her apartment door open. She gives my crew the once-over, then barks, “What were you doing outside my door?”

  “We weren’t doing anything, Mrs. Brubaker,” I say politely.

  “How’s Buffy?” Chuchie cuts in, batting those big brown eyes like she’s so innocent, when she knows exactly what she’s doing. She is so shameless!

  “She’s just fine,” Mrs. Brubaker snaps back.

  “When is she going to, um, have the babies?” Chanel asks.

  “They’re not babies, they’re puppies. And why do you want to know?” Mrs. Brubaker must think she’s a pet detective!

  Chanel blushes, then stammers, “I—I just want to know.”

  “Well, Buffy’s delivery date is none of your business.”

  “Did you, um, speak to my mother?” I ask. I’m trying to be polite, but I’m getting tired of her hooty-snooty behavior toward me and my crew. She doesn’t have to treat us like we’re a bunch of kids.

  “No, I haven’t spoken to your mother. Two can play the same game, you know.”

  I give her a blank look, because I don’t follow her drift. What is she talking about?

  “It’ll be best if all of you just leave Buffy alone. What I do with her litter is my own business. Tell your mother that,” Mrs. Brubaker says, then closes her door onus.

  “I can’t believe she dissed me like that,” I mumble, shoving the key in my own apartment door. I decide to call my mom and tell her about this latest Buffy drama. Dialing the number of her store, I suddenly realize what Mrs. Brubaker meant by “two can play the same game.” Mom doesn’t open the door when Mrs. Brubaker rings our doorbell, so Mrs. Brubaker must have done the same thing to Mom this morning!

  “Yes, I’m sure,” I tell Mom. “She said, ‘What I do with Buffy’s litter is my business, so fly away,’” I explain on the phone. “I swear that’s what she said. Chanel, Dorinda, Aqua, and Angie are right here—they heard her, Mom!”

  Chanel grabs the phone from me. “Madrina, she said to forget about the puppies and leave her alone. She wouldn’t even tell me when Buffy was going to deliver the babies! Like I’m gonna kidnap them from the hospital or something.”

  I’m going through major withdrawal. I have to get a wad of Biggies in my mouth or I’m gonna burst like a bubble! “Gimme the phone, Chuchie,” I say, getting impatient. “Mom, what are we gonna do?” I ask.

  “Sue,” Mom says calmly.

  “Sue?”

  “Yes, we’ll take this matter to family court. Let a judge decide if we’re unfit parents.”

  “But they’re puppies,” I remind her. Mom may be our manager, and she may read Billboard magazine every week, but that doesn’t make her the legal eagle of 67th Street.

  “Darling, you can sue someone for putting a run in your stockings if you want to. This is New York,” she says. “We’ll go to family court first thing in the morning, and file a complaint. That’s the least we can do.”

  “Okay,” I say, sighing deeply. Inside, I feel like we stand a better chance of winning the $5 million jackpot in the lottery than getting Buffy’s babies. I don’t care what Mrs. Brubaker says, they are babies—my babies.

  “Mom says we’re gonna sue for custody of Buffy’s litter,” I tell my crew as I rifle through Mom’s drawers, looking for extra stocking caps.

  “Wow,” Dorinda says, impressed.

  “Look at all your mom’s wigs!” Angie exclaims, p
eering in at the doorway of Mom’s bedroom.

  When we’ve found enough stocking caps, we walk back to Ricky’s. “Maybe we’ll get to keep all the puppies!” Chuchie says as we turn the corner.

  “Chuchie, get it out of your piñata head that you’re getting a puppy!” I snap. “I’ll be lucky if I even get one,” I quickly add, noticing the hurt look on Chuchie’s face. “Awright, let’s get Operation Big Cheese in full effect,” I say, changing the subject, and hand stocking caps to the rest of my crew.

  With the caps on, we look like aliens. “Beam me up, Scottie!” I chuckle, staring into the mirrors behind the cosmetic counter. I ask the salesgirl, “Can I have one of the pink wigs, please?” I figure maybe if I try a wig on first, everyone else will go with the flow.

  “Wow!” Chuchie says. “You look good enough to eat, mija!”

  “Okay, chicklets, are you ready to think pink yet?” I ask the twins, then stare at my reflection. “Wow, I kinda dig it.”

  “Mija, I like it!” Chuchie says excitedly.

  “Galleria, that may look good on you—and Chanel and Dorinda—but what about me and Angie?” Aqua objects. “We’re a lot darker than y’all—and we got big ole heads!”

  “Don’t be radikkio,” I tell her. “Two of the Ikettes wore blond wigs, and they were just your complexion. Remember we watched a video of them on the Dick Clark Show, shaking a tail feather?”

  “Yeah, well, why do we have to look like we have tail feathers on our heads?” Aqua huffs, rolling her eyes. I hate when she does that.

  “Just try it, Aqua,” Angie says, coaxing her sister. “Gimme one, I’ll try it.”

  The salesgirl gives us four more pink wigs, and I help Dorinda put hers on.

  “Mira,” Chuchie says, motioning for us to huddle together and look in the big mirror. I can see that she’s now totally into our transformation. I knew I could count on my ace señorita to get into the groove! “Wow, we really look like a singing group now,” she says.