Dorinda Gets a Groove Page 8

  After Pucci’s name, I write: Khalil. Nestor. Shawn. Okay, that makes fourteen people so far. I might invite Kenya—even though she’s only six, and this is a concert for grown-ups. Topwe, Arba, and Corky are also pretty young.

  Even though it kills me, I write down Chantelle and Monie. I know Monie’s gonna want to bring her boyfriend—but that’s too bad, ’cuz I can’t invite everybody Maybe I should go see if she’s here.

  Before I even walk into the bedroom, Monie, who is propped on her bed like she’s been waiting for me, blurts out, “I’m not going if you don’t invite Hector, too.”

  “Okay,” I say, giving in right away, because I don’t want to fight with her. I don’t want to be with her at the concert anyway, and if Hector is with her, she won’t be on my case, you know what I’m saying?

  Monie throws me a fake smile, then decides to pick a fight with me anyway. “I don’t understand why Mrs. Bosco put you in charge of the tickets. I’m the oldest—she shoulda given them to me.”

  I can’t believe Monie is trying to start a beef jerky about that. Where is she when Mrs. Bosco needs to pay bills, write letters to her sisters and brothers in North Carolina, or has to fill out reports for the foster care agency, huh? Mrs. Bosco doesn’t ask Monie to write stuff for her—she asks me.

  But right now, I don’t have time to deal with Monie the Meanie, who is definitely earning her nickname to the max. All I can think of right now is getting online and talking with my crew.

  “I didn’t ask to be in charge of the tickets, okay?” I turn and say without thinking.

  “Yeah, well, as long as you give me two, I don’t care,” Monie says. Propping herself up on her elbows, she adds, “I want you to give me the tickets, too, ’cuz I don’t want to go with y’all. I’m gonna be over at Hector’s house—and I’ll leave from there.”

  “Um, that’s cool with me, except the tickets are at the box office with my name on them,” I reply matter-of-factly. That should squash this situation for real. Like it or not, the least Monie can do is come with us as a family.

  “Awright, but don’t expect me to be hanging with y’all,” Monie says, sucking her teeth. Then she reaches under her pillow and puts on her Walkman headphones. I wonder where she got that from?

  Probably Hector bought it for her. He’s seventeen, and works full-time at Radio Shack ’cuz he dropped out of school. Monie told us about it like it was something to brag about, you know what I’m saying? No way would I drop out of high school. I’m gonna go to college, too—even if the Cheetah Girls blow up.

  “That’s cool with me,” I say, trying to be chill. I open up the third drawer in the bureau, which is my drawer, and pull out my checkered pajamas. “Just meet us outside of Madison Square Garden at six-thirty.”

  “Six-thirty?” Monie says, getting an attitude. “Why so early?”

  “’Cuz you never know if there’s gonna be a long line or something,” I say, feeling stupid. Maybe it is too early to go there, but I don’t want to mess this up. “It is a Mariah Carey concert, Monie.”

  Monie acts like she doesn’t hear me, but that’s okay. If she isn’t there at six-thirty, then we’re gonna go inside without her. The heck with it, I decide. Mariah Carey invited the family that took in Gaye, so that means we’re all going. I open my notebook again, and write down some more names: Hector. 17. Kenya. 18. Topwe. 19. Corky. 20. Arba. 21. Looking at all the names on the list again, I feel satisfied, so I close my notebook and put in on my nightstand.

  I try to listen if Mrs. Bosco is still up, but I don’t hear anything, so I tiptoe into the living room again. I don’t think she’ll mind if I use the telephone to call Galleria and Chanel. I have to beep them—putting 911 after their phone number, so they’ll know to answer the page ’cuz it’s important. Then they’ll contact the twins.

  I realize that maybe I should wait till tomorrow. But as I get near the telephone, and see that the coast is clear, I decide to call them anyway. Why should I wait? No way, José! My crew is gonna want the lowdown to this showdown—even if the crows are crowing, and the roosters are up singing cock-a-doodle-doo!

  Chapter

  10

  I was so glad when school was over today, because Galleria and Chanel went around telling everybody—even Teqwuila and Kadeesha, whom they never talk to unless it’s to squash a beef jerky—that I got twenty-five free tickets to the Mariah Carey concert tonight! Fashion Industries peeps were having Gucci Envy attacks all over the place!

  Then I started feeling bad, because I couldn’t invite everybody I’m cool with at school. In the end, I did invite LaRonda Jones from math class on the sneak tip. I had to hook her up, because she hooked me up once.

  See, when we made our Cheetah Girls chokers, we sold them to peeps at school—but they ended up falling apart before first period was over—and LaRonda was the only one who was cool about the situation. I made LaRonda promise that she wouldn’t go around telling everybody I invited her to Marian’s concert.

  I’m sorry, but I can’t help it if I’m a little superstitious. What if I drag all these people to Madison Square Garden, and there is no envelope with my name on it, huh? All I’m saying is, it wouldn’t be the first time Mrs. Bosco got things mixed up. I’ll never forget how embarrassed I was when I had to finally tell my crew that my adoption didn’t go through, because Mrs. Bosco didn’t understand the paperwork and the whole adoption procedure.

  Just after I finish getting dressed up for the concert, someone knocks on my open bedroom door, and I turn to see who it is.

  “How do I loook, Dorinda?” Topwe asks me in his funny African accent. He grins, showing off that big gap in his front teeth that always always makes me smile. Topwe then strikes a pose in the doorway, fingering the burgundy bow tie he’s wearing with his white shirt and gray pants.

  “You look dope!” I say, noticing that the sores by his mouth look like crusty critters. Topwe’s HIV virus has been acting up lately, and he even had to stay home from school all week. But he’s been feeling better since yesterday, and anyhow, nothing was gonna keep him from going to the Mariah Carey concert. Not even HIV!

  “Come here, lemme put a little lotion on that handsome face.” I grab the bottle of Magik Potion lotion, and rub some all over Topwe’s face. I don’t think the stuff is magic as much as it’s just plain greasy.

  I’m so glad I decided to invite all my brothers and sisters to the concert, even if they don’t know who Mariah Carey is. I can tell they are just happy to be going somewhere, because we never really do stuff together like a real family, you know what I’m saying?

  I put on my cheetah bell-bottoms and matching jacket, then look at myself in the mirror on the back of the closet door. Today, I’m the cheetah who’s got something to growl about! Taking another long look, I decide that I need a few sparkles around my eyes, then I’m good to go. I open a pot of Manic Panic gold glitter and dab it on.

  Twinkie runs into my bedroom without knocking first, but I don’t say anything, even though she knows she’s not supposed to do that. “Can I have some?” she asks, eyeing my glitter. She reaches for the jar, dropping a candy wrapper on the floor.

  “Go ahead,” I tell her, but I dab on the gel for her. Twinkie turns to run out of my bedroom, but I yell after her, “Pick up the wrapper you dropped. You know Cheetah Girls don’t litter, they glitter!”

  “Yes, Cheetah Bunny,” Twinkie squeals, throwing the wrapper into my garbage can and running out again. “I’ll go get everybody.”

  When I come out of my bedroom, I’m surprised that Mrs. Bosco is wearing her nice brown corduroy jumper and her “good wig.”

  “I guess I might as well see what all this ruckus is about,” she says, still brushing her wig into place.

  “Of course,” I chuckle. Now I realize that I was right. She wasn’t feeling well yesterday. As if she’s reading my mind, Mrs. Bosco goes on to say, “I must say I’m feeling pretty good today.”

  “You look good, too,” I chuckle, hel
ping her on with her jacket.

  Now I’m wondering what we’re gonna do about Gaye. “Is Gaye, um, coming with us?”

  “Yes, indeed—unless you done gave away all the tickets,” Mrs. Bosco asks.

  “No,” I say feeling embarrassed. I’m not going to tell her that I didn’t invite twenty-five people because I felt kinda scared about this whole thing not coming off.

  “I think Gaye will be fine. I’ll just stay close to her,” Mrs. Bosco explains, like she’s trying to reassure me or something. Then she goes into the kitchen.

  Gaye is sitting quietly on the couch, waiting. She is wearing one of Arba’s pink jumpers, and a pretty pink bow in her braid on top.

  “You look pretty, Gaye,” I say, but I don’t expect her to answer me, so I just turn to go back in my bedroom and get my backpack.

  “Tank you,” she says quietly.

  At first, I’m startled that Gaye has actually said something to me, but I try not to make a big deal out of it. I smile at her again, but she quickly puts her head down. Walking into my bedroom, I realize that Ms. Keisha is right as usual—Gaye does have a West Indian accent.

  “Monie’s gonna meet us at the Garden, so we should all go downstairs to wait for Mr. Garibaldi,” I yell to Mrs. Bosco from the front door. I get everyone out the door, and we’re off to the concert!

  I’m so glad that Ms. Dorothea and Mr. Garibaldi are coming. Mr. Garibaldi, or Franco, as he insists I call him, even volunteered to pick up my family and drive us down to Madison Square Garden, since he has a big van that he uses to bring clothes from his factory in Brooklyn to their boutique in SoHo.

  Mr. Walker, the twins’ father, is gonna pick up Ms. Dorothea, Galleria, and Chanel and bring them to the Garden with the twins. Mr. Walker has a Bronco, and sometimes he and Mr. Garibaldi try to outdo each other over who’s driving who, if you know what I’m saying.

  While we stand outside our building, waiting for Mr. Garibaldi, some of our neighbors give us a shout-out. You’d think we won the lottery or something!

  “I can’t believe y’all are going to see Miss Mariah. I wish I was going. Don’t forget to bring me back a CD, or a T-shirt, or something,” yells Ms. Keisha, sticking her head out the window, her bright pink hair rollers bobbing all over the place as she laughs.

  “Well, you’d better settle for an empty popcorn container, ’cuz that’s all you’ll be getting,” Mrs. Bosco mumbles under her breath.

  We get to the Garden, and wait outside for everybody I’ve invited. Pretty soon, I start getting a bad case of the squigglies. People are shoving each other, and crowding around the entrance like it’s Christmas or something.

  “Tickets, tickets,” whispers this scary-looking guy right in my ear. I look at him, startled, and he says, “You need tickets?”

  “Um, no,” I say, feeling scared.

  “What’s he want?” Chantelle asks me.

  “He’s a scalper,” I explain.

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s people who sell tickets at a higher price,” I explain to her, trying to calm down. Please, God, let our tickets be at the box office. Don’t let this turn into Madison “Scare” Garden or something! If it’s all a mistake, or if there’s a mix-up and the tickets aren’t there, I’ll never live it down—I’ll just sink into the ground and die of embarrassment!

  “Look at all these people—they got free tickets, too?” Shawn asks me. I can tell he’s kinda uncomfortable standing around.

  “No, they didn’t get free tickets—we did!” yells Twinkie loudly.

  “Shhh, Twinkie,” I say, holding her close.

  “There’s Monie!” yells Chantelle as my older sister approaches with her boyfriend, Hector.

  “Heh, wazzup, Dorinda,” he says, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for inviting me.” At least he has some manners. Maybe he should give Monie lessons.

  I’m so happy when I see Galleria, Ms. Dorothea, Chanel, and Pucci walking through the crowd that I could jump up and down.

  “Do’ Re Mi, you are definitely pos-seeee!” riffs Galleria when she sees me. She puts out her hand so we can do the Cheetah Girls handshake.

  Chanel is smiling as she walks through the crowd on her crutches.

  “Coming through—can’t you see she’s on crutches?” Ms. Dorothea says sternly to the rowdy posse that’s blocking their way.

  Where is Tiffany, I wonder? She said her parents were gonna drop her off, but maybe they went to the wrong entrance or something. I mean, Madison Square Garden is supa-dupa big.

  “You should’ve seen my mom’s face this morning when I told her,” Chanel heckles when she’s finally standing next to me. “She almost lost her balance belly dancing!”

  “She practices so early in the morning?” I act surprised.

  “Sí, mamacita—sometimes she gets up at six o’clock to exercise!” Chanel says, her eyes bugging wide.

  “She’s not coming?” I ask.

  “No way, José! Her boyfriend is in town, and they’re going to see La Boheme.”

  “Wow,” I say, wondering what that is—probably something French, knowing Mrs. Simmons.

  “Um, Mrs. Bosco, can you wait here with everybody while I go get the tickets?” I ask. See, I’m getting more and more scared and scared that the tickets won’t really be there—and until I’m holding them in my hot little hand, I won’t rest easy.

  “Go ahead,” Mrs. Bosco says.

  “I’ll go with you, Do’,” Galleria volunteers.

  When we see how long the line is at the box office, I get even more nervous. “We’re gonna be here all day,” I moan to Galleria.

  “Hang tight,” she says, running over to a security guard. I can tell by the way she’s giggling that she’s angling for something. “This is the wrong line,” she says when she returns, wearing a satisfied grin. “We’ve gotta go to the Will Call window.”

  “Word?” I say impressed, because Will Call sounds kinda important.

  “Will Call is where they keep all the Press and VIP tickets,” Galleria informs me.

  I’m still nervous as I walk up to the Will Call window and ask for the tickets. “Um, they should be under Dorinda Rogers,” I say to the attendant.

  “Excuse me,” she says, not smiling, “you gotta talk louder.”

  “I said, Dorinda Rogers,” I say, speaking up louder this time.

  It seems like a thousand years are going by as we wait for her to flip through stacks of envelopes looking for our tickets. I can feel the sweat breaking out on my forehead and under my arms.

  “Here you go,” the attendant says, shoving an envelope through the window slot.

  “Yippee-yi-yay!” Galleria shrieks, pinching my arm as I open the envelope and count the tickets.

  “Don’t let people see them!” Galleria adds, standing in front of me. “That guy over there is peeping the situation. This is the Big Apple—you know, they’ve got scalpers and pickpockets everywhere!”

  “I know,” I reply, embarrassed because I should know better. I shove the tickets into my backpack.

  “Are we in business?” Galleria asks.

  “Yeah!” Quickly, I count in my head all the people I invited, and the number of tickets I have in my backpack. Now I feel bad, because we still have some tickets left.

  LaRonda and Tiffany are waiting with Chanel when Galleria and I get back. Tiffany is wearing the same white skort she had on the other day, but I don’t say anything. I’m just glad to see her.

  “Hi, Dorinda mamacita!” she says excitedly.

  Chanel and Twinkie giggle at her Spanish.

  “Wow, I like your hair,” Tiffany exclaims to Twinkie.

  “Thank you,” my little sister says, beaming back. “You’re Dorinda’s sister?”

  “Yeah,” Tiffany says, looking at me for approval.

  “You’re the one with the keyboard?” Twinkie asks her.

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I play it too?” Twinkie says, squinching up her nose.
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  “Oh, yeah—you wanna come over?”

  “Can I?” Twinkie says, looking over at me.

  “Don’t look at me, Twinkie—she invited you,” I say, chuckling. Now I can see that Twinkie and Tiffany are sort of alike, too—they both wanna get into the mix any way they can.

  “Can I come over your house, for real?” Twinkie asks her.

  “Yeah—you can come over for real!” Tiffany says excitedly.

  Now I feel good that I’m not the only one who’s got a new groove—it seems like my whole family, and the rest of the Cheetah Girls, are gonna get one, too.

  “Girl, I can’t believe we’re going to see Mariah!” LaRonda pipes up outta nowhere. “You shoulda seen Derek’s face when I told him.”

  “What did he say?” Galleria asks, chuckling. Even though she pretends she doesn’t like the Red Snapper, we all know she does.

  “His face was crushed, okay?” LaRonda says, rolling her neck and pointing her index finger at the same time.

  “I can’t believe it, but I’ve still got tickets left,” I say to Ms. Dorothea.

  “That’s fabulous—at least we’ll have an empty seat to put our jackets on!” Ms. Dorothea says, satisfied.

  “That’s a real good idea, Ms. Dorothea!” Aqua says excitedly as we push our way through the entrance.

  “Don’t get too excited, darling, because my hat had better not get crushed!” Ms. Dorothea removes her big cheetah fake-fur hat.

  “You should make those for your store,” I yell to her.

  “Are you kidding, Dorinda? I’ve gotta save a few head-turning designs for my private collection, or else I’d see myself going and coming all day!”

  “You’re right about that!” I chuckle back. Everybody copies Ms. Dorothea’s designs, and some of her customers like to dress exactly like her—because Ms. Dorothea has the flavor that everybody savors, you know what I’m saying?

  “Isn’t this blazin’ amazin’, that we’re at a Mariah Carey concert?” Galleria riffs to Aqua as we make our way to our seats.

  “Yes, indeed. We definitely have to give thanks to the Lord above,” Aqua says, her big eyes popping.