Bring It On! Page 6

  “I guess we can learn to love pink cheetah,” Aqua says, giving in.

  “You can,” Chanel says, nodding her head happily.

  “I have the extra large for you,” the salesgirl says, returning with two sweaters.

  “Um, great,” Galleria says, taking the sweaters. “We’ll need both of them.”

  Now Angie smirks and starts combing through the racks.

  “I guess we’d better hurry up,” Savannah says.

  “We’ll see you later,” adds Destinee. I can tell they are both real glad to get away from us.

  “Thirteen, mamacita?” Chanel asks once the girls are out of earshot.

  “Yup, I got skipped in junior high,” I say, nodding and looking for a size medium for Galleria.

  My crew stays quiet for about two seconds, then Angie blurts out, “Found a small for Chanel.”

  “Here’s a medium for Galleria.” I look at Galleria and she just smiles, even though I know she wants to make a crack about me.

  We take the sweaters to the dressing room, when suddenly Chanel spots pink cheetah fake-fur skirts. She lets out another loud squeal. “Ay, Diós, Mio!” The flared skirt has a poodle appliqué near the hemline.

  This time Galleria just shakes her head and grabs the skirts. “Well, I guess if our singing career doesn’t work out, we will certainly have the right outfits to announce our Divette Dogwalker Service, won’t we?”

  “Heh, Bubbles, that’s a good idea!” Chanel says.

  “Don’t even think about it, Chuchie,” Bubbles warns Chanel. “Just keep your eye on the prize, please. We’ll make it. You’ll see.” She pushes Chanel into the dressing room while we find other empty stalls.

  Once we all have on our outfits, Aqua still seems unsure of herself in the pink cheetah sweater and skirt.

  “You look cheetah-licious, don’t fight it,” Galleria warns her.

  Chanel, on the other hand, is delirious. “This sweater is so Sex and the City!”

  Aqua shoots her a look.

  “I saw one of the reruns on TNT,” Chanel says coyly. “Mamí fell asleep.”

  “If we come home with anything like those heffas wear on that show, Daddy will have us ‘outta the city’ faster than you can say Delta Air Lines!” Angie gripes, her eyes wide with fear.

  “Well, it’s Dorinda’s birthday,” Angie says, smiling. “The neckline’s not low or anything. It’s all right, Aqua—it’s kinda cute. Daddy will like it.”

  Even though Aqua is still not convinced, Galleria drags her to the cash register, with our poodly cheetah tops and skirts. Destinee and Savannah are already there, buying black satin hip-huggers and powder-blue angora sweaters. Chanel whips out our shoportunity card and hands it to the cashier.

  “Oh, that’s right, you won great prizes!” Destinee says. She pulls out a credit card and hands it to the cashier. “It’s our dad’s.”

  Chanel looks at the credit card like it’s a lamb chop dripping with mint jelly. “That’s what I love about America—credit!”

  “Snap out of it, Chuchie,” Galleria says, poking her. “You need credit like I need cellulite!”

  “You mean more cellulite, mija, right?” Chanel giggles.

  “Hey, here’s our phone number at our dad’s. If you perform anywhere else, let us know!” Destinee hands Chanel a card.

  Chanel takes the card from her. “Wow, I like the way you spell your name!”

  Suddenly I feel a pang of jealousy, or Gucci Envy, as Galleria calls it. It must be nice having your own card to hand out. I glance at the pretty card. It says “Destinee” in nice, pink, script letters.

  “What kind of name is Chuchie?” Destinee asks, teasing.

  “The kind of name someone named Destinee spelled with two ‘es’ shouldn’t ask about,” Galleria answers, teasing back.

  “She’s just kidding—I’m Dominican,” Chuchie responds.

  “And Puerto Rican,” adds Galleria.

  “And Cuban,” Angie chimes in, nodding her head like, “Believe it.”

  “Wow,” Destinee says, glancing at Savannah with a look that says, “Don’t you love New York?”

  When the girls leave, Chuchie snaps, “You were mean, Bubbles!”

  “They loved it. Now they can go home and say they had an authentic New York experience,” Galleria says, waving one of the shoportunity gift certificates. Now Galleria turns to me, and I’m sure she’s going to drop a wisecrack like a boom, but she surprises me: “Since it’s your birthday, Do’, we’ve decided that you get to keep the Barnes and Noble gift certificate for yourself.”

  “No way,” I say, astounded.

  “Way,” Galleria says forcefully. “Since when do you get anything extra? Take it”

  “Thanks,” I say quietly and put the card in my cheetah backpack.

  “Well, I think we’re all going to look real nice in our new outfits,” Aqua says, obviously patting herself on the back for going along with our pink cheetah plan.

  “Sometimes life forces us in directions which we should have found ourselves,” Galleria says matter-of-factly, patting Aqua on her shoulder.

  “Word, that’s deep,” I say, nodding my head, then pondering the thought for a second.

  “Holy sardines!” Galleria says, her eyes widening. “I knew there was a reason we were thinking pink. I just came up with the master whammy jammy idea.”

  We stand there, watching Galleria’s facial expression.

  “It’s Dorinda’s birthday, right, next Saturday?” she starts in.

  “Yeah?” Aqua says.

  “And Mrs. Bosco needs to get an attorney so she can kick some foster-care-agency butt, right?” Galleria continues.

  We don’t say anything to that one, but just look at each other puzzled.

  “So, if we throw a Cheetah Girls fund-raising benefit,” Galleria says excitedly, “we can raise enough money for Mrs. Bosco to get an attorney—and celebrate Dorinda’s birthday—and show peeps that the Cheetah Girls have growl power to the max!”

  “Now that sounds like a plan,” Aqua says, nodding in approval.

  I stand there speechless.

  “Listen, Dorinda, nobody ever said you had to take this lying down,” Aqua goes on.

  I look at Aqua, startled.

  “It’s a Southern expression,” Angie says, gently taking my arm.

  “Um, I don’t know,” I say, my cheeks burning. “I think I’d better ask Mrs. Bosco first.”

  “Speaking of authority,” retorts Galleria, then fumbles in her cheetah backpack and whips out her Miss Wiggy cell phone. By now, I know exactly how Galleria’s mind works—like lightning.

  As soon as Ms. Dorothea answers the phone, Galleria tells her the idea. “Ah-hah. Ah-hah. Ah-hah.” Galleria keeps nodding and looking at us.

  “Done deal-io,” Galleria says, looking at us like she is not going to take no for an answer. “Mom was on point. She said that we should invite all the Def Duck Records executives to the fund-raiser. And she is going to send out a massive e-mail inviting all her clients once we’ve made an electronic flyer!”

  “Do’ Re Mi—this is gonna be the best birthday you’ve ever had! You’ll see. Es la verdad,” Chanel whispers in my ear.

  “I know exactly what we’re calling it—the ‘Bring It On!’ benefit,” Galleria says, thinking out loud. “’Cause we are definitely gonna bring it on. Nobody is ever gonna say the Cheetah Girls take shots from anybody. Am I right, Do’ Re Mi?”

  I don’t respond. I can’t because I’m too busy crying. My crew forms a circle around me and we stand there hugging for a whole New York minute.

  Chapter

  6

  When I get home, I’m still trying to figure out how to tell Mrs. Bosco about the fund-raiser idea. What if she gets upset? I mean, I don’t want to upset her more than she already is. One look at Mrs. Bosco’s face sitting at the dining room table, with Gaye on her lap, tells me I’m right. Corky and Twinkie don’t even smile when they see me. They are sitting in front
of the television.

  “Corky knows, Dorinda,” Twinkie says, looking up at me with her red, swollen eyes. Now I realize that everybody has been crying. Twinkie doesn’t even ask me what’s in my shopping bag, so I know she’s really upset. I put my shopping bag in my room—in the closet so Chantelle doesn’t mess with it, then walk into the kitchen and take my dinner out of the oven. Whenever I’m late, Mrs. Bosco always puts aside a plate for me covered with tinfoil. I’m not even hungry, but I go to the dining room and sit down at the table.

  All of a sudden, I just blurt out Galleria’s idea for a fund-raiser, then hold my breath and wait for her response. “She even wants to call it ‘The Bring It On!’ benefit, I add for good measure, because I know that Mrs. Bosco really likes Bubbles for being so bossy and determined.

  “You know what,” Mrs. Bosco says, pushing up her bifocal glasses on her nose. “Y’all go ‘head with your fund-raiser. This boy ain’t leaving my house without a fight.”

  I look at Mrs. Bosco with tears in my eyes. Now I finally understand what Galleria meant by what she said: sometimes life does force you in directions. I think she really meant to say: life kicks you in the butt so you can stop dillydallying about a situation.

  The next morning, when I take Corky, Twinkie, and Kenya to the bus stop on Malcolm X Boulevard and 118th Street, Twinkie turns to me with the saddest blue eyes, and asks: “Is my father gonna come get me, too?”

  “No, Twinkie,” I say firmly “And I’ll tell you a little secret, neither is Corky’s father.”

  She throws her arms around me and whispers in my ear, “Is the boogey man gonna get him?” “No, the Cheetah Girls are.” I chuckle.

  Twinkie’s eyes turn a brighter shade of blue. “Bye, Cheetah Bear!”

  Today, I can’t wait to go to school and tell my crew that the “Bring It On!” benefit is definitely on like popcorn. That reminds me about the latest riff Galleria is writing about all my foster brothers and sisters. Her lyrical flow is always working 24–7.

  That’s why I’m not surprised when I hook up with my crew by the school lockers and Galleria hits me up with the finished riff first thing. She whips out of a copy for me and shoves it in my hand: “Let me know what you think. I’m open to any collaborative input on this one,” she says haughtily. I know she’s referring to that drama that went down after Kats and Kittys with Derek and Mackerel.

  “Since when, mija?” Chanel chides her. “Dame uno. Give me one, too!”

  Just when I thought Galleria was about to surrender her self-appointed position as “boss of the beats,” I realize it’s déjà vu all over again.

  “Um, I wasn’t talking about you, Chuchie—this is Dorinda’s groove, okay?” declares Galleria.

  “Mrs. Bosco said let’s roll with the benefit,” I chime in, trying to squash their never-ending songwriting beef jerky.

  “Then we’re on it, doggone it!” Galleria says excitedly.

  We plan to meet after school to get started on all the millions of details that go into making a benefit jump off.

  “I’m gonna call Princess Pamela and get her to donate stuff for the goody bags!” squeals Chanel, whipping out her cell phone.

  “Just don’t think you’re gonna get your paws on the merch—it’s for paying customers,” yelps Galleria, referring to the peeps who are going to shell out twenty-five dollars a ticket for our fund-raising benefit.

  “See you later,” I yell out, while they continue to go at it.

  “Don’t forget—” Galleria calls out over her shoulder.

  “What?” I ask nervously. Bubbles moves so fast, I can’t keep up with all the details.

  “Dorinda’s Family Groove—check it out, give me notes later,” orders Galleria.

  “Oh, right,” I say, nodding. Walking to my homeroom class, I take a peek at the song Galleria wrote for me, but when I start reading it, I feel myself getting weepy again.

  As a matter of fact, tears start streaming down my face. I finally realize why I can never get mad at Bubbles. She may seem bossy sometimes and full of herself, but she is always on the real tip. She’s not thinking about herself at all—she’s thinking about everybody.

  “Are you okay, Dorinda?” Daisy Duarte asks me, touching my shoulder.

  “Yeah, I’m cool,” I assure Daisy. “Real cool.”

  For the next four days, I really am cool, because I’m not just sitting around thinking about the Corky situation. I’m actually doing something—meeting at Galleria’s apartment every day after school to help the Cheetah Girls pull together our “Bring It On!” benefit. You can’t believe how hard we have been working to “set it off.” My bad. I don’t mean we’re doing this whole thing by ourselves. All the peeps around us are pulling their weight—everybody—from Princess Pamela to Mrs. Walker (Aqua and Angie’s mother, who lives in Houston) to Drinka Champagne, our vocal teacher, to Galleria’s dad, Mr. Garibaldi. Everybody we can count on has stepped up to the plate and helped us. So now the fund-raiser is about to jump off this Saturday. So far, it’s been like playing a game of Monopoly—making our moves carefully—and we are definitely ready to pass “Go!” on Saturday night. In my mind, I run over all the details and make a list of everyone who helped us:

  1) Drinka Champagne is letting us use the Drinka Champagne Conservatory for the benefit—for a price we couldn’t resist—free. Drinka even got one of her old school peeps, Deejay Frankie Feelgood, to volunteer his deejay services for our benefit. (I mean, if the benefit is called the “Bring It On!” benefit then we have to have some thumping beats, okay, to help everybody do just that.)

  2) Ms. Dorothea has donated lots of cheetah fabric and is even letting her seamstress, Chen Chen (she does all the in-store alterations at Ms. Dorothea’s boutique), make the table coverings and wall drapings for the benefit. Ms. Dorothea has also donated 200 cheetah shopping bags and tissue paper for our gift bags. “See, when peeps pay $25 for a fund-raising benefit, they always expect to walk away with a few goody bags,” Ms. Dorothea schooled us.

  3) Mr. Walker, Angie and Aqua’s father, designed the invitation on his Master Whammy computer (he’s a Big Willie in the marketing department of a roach spray company) and printed out 1,000 invitations with envelopes. (The invitations, of course, are cheetah-licious and have cheetah paw prints in the corners.)

  4) Mrs. Walker, the twins’ mother, whom I met in Houston when the Cheetah Girls were down there performing for the “Houston Helps Its Own” benefit, has gotten her company, Avon, to donate oodles of beauty products for the gift bags and shipped us three huge boxes through FedEx. (In return, we have listed Avon Cosmetics as one of the sponsors on the bottom of the invitation.)

  5) Mr. Simmons is donating all the spicy food and soft drink beverages from his Return of the Killer Taco restaurants (and, of course, Return of the Killer Taco is also listed as one of the sponsors on the bottom of the invitation). Mr. Simmons would have also donated the paper plates, napkins, and stuff, but Ms. Dorothea does not think forest green goes with our theme. She insisted we use her personal stash of leopard paper plates, cups, and napkins. (She is right, as usual.)

  6) Princess Pamela has donated gift certificates to Princess Pamela’s Poundcake Palace and Princess Pamela’s Psychic Palace for the goody bags.

  7) Everybody—that means Drinka Champagne, Ms. Dorothea, Mrs. Walker, Mr. Walker, Princess Pamela, and Mr. Simmons have given us their client and customer lists so we can send out massive e-mail invitations. Of course, we have also put up a notice on the bulletin boards at both our schools (Fashion Industries High and Performing Arts East), and, last but not least, the Kats and Kittys Klub (the nationwide teen social organization we all belong to) office is sending out e-mails to all its tri-state members.

  8) Ms. Dorothea’s boutique is also handling the RSVPs. She has a Mastercard and Visa hookup, so we can sell tickets over the phone. So far we have sold thirty tickets, which means we have already raised $750 before the event!

  9) Last but not least, every
one is going to perform—that means the disco legend Drinka Champagne herself, peeps who go to school with us—the mighty Malcolm Extra; Danitra; Fredericka; and Mackerel and the Red Snapper. Even Ms. Simmons, Chanel’s Mom, is going to treat guests to her whammy jammy belly dancing.

  “Is Auntie Juanita going to wear an authentic belly dancing outfit?” Galleria asks, interrupting my personal shout-out list. “Tassels, veils, gold coins, the works?”

  We are all unpacking the Avon beauty products from the FedEx boxes.

  “Sí, mamacita!” Chanel says. “I saw her trying everything on in the exercise studio.

  “I can’t believe Auntie Juanita is going to be jingling, baby!” riffs Galleria, who is fiddling with the little flower-petal-shaped lip gloss pots. “Mom, how many tickets have we sold so far?”

  “You asked me that five minutes ago. I told you—thirty,” Ms. Dorothea says, writing down a “to do” list. “Don’t worry. People always wait till the last minute to buy tickets—and some even wait for the privilege of paying extra at the door.”

  “This Flower Swirl lip gloss is the whammy jammy,” Galleria says, slicking on one of the Avon products.

  “Which one?” Chanel asks.

  “Watermelon, of course.” Galleria giggles.

  “That’s enough, Galleria! The products are for the paying guests. Now start putting the products in the gift bags!” orders Ms. Dorothea, smacking Galleria’s hand.

  I chuckle to myself because it turns out that Galleria—not Chanel—is the one who has been trying to get whiffs of all the freebies for the goody bags. We are in Galleria’s living room, which has been turned into the official Cheetah Girls office, if you ask me. I mean, there are papers and boxes everywhere. My job today is to e-mail invites to everyone on all the lists we have compiled. Trust me, it’s a whole lot of people. I even invited my adopted sister, Tiffany, and her family, even though she was disappointed that I wouldn’t let her perform in the benefit. But trust me, she’s like my foster sister Chantelle—they both can’t sing, okay?