Dorinda's Secret (4 page)

“Yes. And you girls better take a look at the bulletin board, too. There's something you may be interested in,” Miss Winnie adds, winking at me.

That must mean there's something dope, like an audition or something. See, sometimes casting directors who are looking for young talent contact Drinka's Conservatory, so the school puts up notices on the bulletin board. Drinka was the queen of disco back in the day, and she still has mad “connects” all over the place.

I wonder what's jumping down. But I don't get a chance to check it out right away, because it's time for class to begin!

“Dorinda—
qué linda
!” exclaims Chanel when I walk into the studio. The Cheetah Girls are all so hyped these days, ever since we had our big meeting with Def Duck Records. Like I said, they're gonna put us in a studio with big cheese producer, Mouse Almighty, to cut a few songs for a possible demo. We don't know
when
it's going to go down, but we are definitely “in the house with Mouse,” as Bubbles puts it.

I hug Chanel first. Even though I'm down with all the Cheetah Girls, I definitely feel the closest with Chanel. We have a lot in common. I mean, her pops is gone, and she and her mom don't exactly seem to be watching the same
Telemundo
television show, if you know what I'm saying. Her mom doesn't want Chanel to just be herself. I mean, Chanel may not be good at math or spelling, but she is really sweet. She knows how to make people feel like she cares about them, and how to make you laugh—and that counts for a lot—especially in our crew.

“Guess who's here? It's Do' Re Mi—so now we can flip it like posse!” Bubbles chants, giving me a Cheetah Girls handshake. She has on a hot-pink sweater and pink lipstick, which makes her look kinda like her nickname—a juicy piece of bubble gum!

“Galleria, you heard anything else from the Def Duck peeps?” I ask. All this waiting just to hear when we can kick it in the studio makes me so anxious. I just want us to move and groove already, ayiight?

“
Nada
,” Galleria says, shaking her head. I can tell she's on the anxious tip, too. “I can't wait till we can get into a studio. I mean
enuf
with the powder puff!”

“I heard that,” I groan.

“Daddy doesn't understand why they just don't give us a record deal,” Aquanette says, her eyes popping wide. “I told him the music business is not like the pest control business—you can't just expect a roach to crawl up into a roach motel and be done with it!”

I chuckle at Aqua's joke. The twins have definitely gotten more live, if you know what I'm saying.

After our class, Drinka pulls all five of us aside. “Now listen, Cheetah Girls, there's a notice upstairs I want you to look at—the ‘Battle of the Divettes' competition.”

Chanel jumps up and down like a Mexican jumping bean.

“Now, a lot of the students are gonna try out for it, but I think this one has your name written all over it—‘divettes.' Drinka's red lip gloss is shining like a neon sign as she breaks into a big smile, showing off the biggest, whitest teeth I've ever seen. “Send in your tape and see if you get an audition for it.”

“What kind of tape?” Bubbles asks, looking at us.

“Don't tell me you haven't made a videotape of yourselves performing yet?” Drinka asks, like she can't believe it. Suddenly, I feel like a wanna-be all over again.

“Dag on, I guess we haven't,” Aqua pipes up, looking sullen.

“Well, run out and make one,” Drinka commands us. “
Au revoir, mes chéries
.” Drinka lays on the thick French accent, the way Chanel's mom, Juanita, does.

“
Au revoir
,” Chanel coos.

“
Croissant
,” giggles Bubbles, and kisses Drinka on the cheek.

Drinka was right. The “Battle of the Divettes” competition does seem like it has our names written on it. The headline on the posting reads:
If you think you're fierce, call and submit your tape. (Photo and bio optional.)

“Oh, lawdy, lawd,” Angie says, grabbing her sister Aqua's hand and continuing to read the listing. “Unsigned talent who make ‘The Grade' will compete on air. MTV will finance and air a professionally produced video of the grand-prize winner!”

“Remember those girls—‘In the Dark'?” Aqua asks. “You know—the leader of the group wears a fake eye patch, and the other girls have got those monkey-head canes?”

“Yeah,” Angie says, scrunching up her nose. “I told you I don't like them. She's trying to look like Zorro, with that black eye patch covered with rhinestones.” I think they're too flashy for the twins, if you know what I'm saying.

“Yes, we know what you think, Miz Anginette, but you know how she got to floss that eye patch in the first place? By winning the grand prize on
The Grade
,” Bubbles says exasperated. “Now those girls have it made in the shade.”

“Is that right?” Angie responds sheepishly.

“If
they
can get a deal by thumping around with those wack-a-doodle-do monkey canes and that fake eye patch action, then imagine what a bunch of cheetah-fied divettes could get?” Galleria continues. “We should pounce right to first place just by licking our paws on the air, you know what I'm saying?”

“Okay, Miss Galleria, we know what you're saying,” Aqua says, cracking a smile now that she gets Galleria's point.

“I'd enter the ‘Battle of the Divettes' contest even if they were just giving away Goofy Grape sodas for first prize!” I say, chuckling. The whole idea sounds good to me—as long as we're not actually signed by Def Duck, we're still eligible.

“I know that's right,” Aqua pipes up, confirming what I was thinking without blinking.

We continue reading the listing, and find out that the Battle of the Divettes competition is being held at the Apollo Theatre uptown. We look at each other, and I know we're all thinking the same thing.
Oh, no, say it ain't so. Not another Nightmare on 125th Street!

See, the Cheetah Girls performed in the Apollo Amateur Hour contest and we
lost
, to a pair of wanna-be rappers called Stak Chedda—and believe me, they weren't “betta.” I think we're still hurting from that disaster.

As usual, though, Galleria is hyping us up. “You know what they say—lightning never strikes twice in the same place.”

“Yeah, that's true—but it don't say nothing about
losing
!” Aqua blurts out.

“Don't be radikkio. It's a new day and a new situation, so let's just go with the flow and act like we know,” Galleria says, whipping out her Kitty Kat notebook and scribbling down all the information.

“But,
mamacita
, the contest is next Saturday!” Chanel says. “How are we gonna get a videotape made in time to send it in and meet the deadline—by calling 1-800-ALADDIN?” She twirls her hair anxiously. Chanel always twirls her hair when she gets nervous.

“No, Chuchie, we're gonna ask Mom to help us,” Galleria says, whipping out her Miss Wiggy StarWac cell phone. I wish I had a cell phone—it's so cool to be able to flex and floss on the move, you know what I'm saying?

“I'm hungry—what time is it?” Aqua asks, licking her juicy lips.

Looking at my watch, I almost shriek—“It's one-thirty!”

“Do' Re Mi,
qué pasa, mamacita
?” Chanel asks, concerned.

“I've gotta be home,” I say, getting embarrassed. Why should I tell them I have to go home because a stupid caseworker is coming over to my house?
I hate that
. All of a sudden, I feel like Cinderella or something.

Chanel gives me a look with her big, goo-goo brown eyes, like, “why won't you tell me?”

“Um, my caseworker, Mrs. Tattle, is coming over today,” I say, feeling my face get warm. I keep on talking, because I'm getting more and more embarrassed. “I don't know why she's coming over on a Saturday, but I've got to be there.”

Chanel puts her arm around me. “I hope Mrs. Tattle's got a
boca grande
. With that name, she'd better be talking and sticking up for you,
está bien
?”

“I guess so,” I say, looking over at Galleria; but I'm relieved when I see that she isn't really listening to us, because she's on the phone, sorta fighting with her mom, Ms. Dorothea. At least I feel off the hook… .

“I hope Mrs. Tattle doesn't stay long, you know what I'm saying?” I confide to my crew.

“I know that's right,” Aqua says, looking at me with real concern. The twins come from a close family—and I understand that they watch each other's back. They probably think my situation is so strange.

Little do they know about the ways of the Big Apple. There are a
lot
of foster kids here—something like forty thousand—so I'm not alone, you know what I'm saying? Sometimes they have articles in the newspaper about foster kids like me.

“Can't the caseworkers leave you alone, now that Mrs. Bosco adopted you?” Aqua asks, hesitating. Suddenly, I realize that I haven't told my crew about the adoption mix-up yet. Omigod, what should I do? Now I feel like Chanel—always opening my
boca grande
for
nada
—for nothing!

I take a deep breath, and fiddle with the straps on my cheetah backpack. Even though it's emptier than usual, all of a sudden my backpack feels like a “magilla gorilla” on my back.

I'm so tired of all the fib-eronis I've been telling my crew. I know it's gonna catch up to me one day—and I guess today is the day, okay?

“Mrs. Bosco thought the adoption went through, but it didn't,” I say, hemming and hawing. I'm
not
going to tell them that she can't read or write. No way, José.

“Really?” Chanel asks me, like I'm joking, her big brown eyes opening wide like she doesn't believe me.

“Really, Chanel. I wouldn't joke about something like that,” I say, trying to figure out how I can explain Mrs. Bosco's mistake to them. It wasn't
all
her fault. “They couldn't find my mother to get her to sign over her parental rights, or something like that. I don't know!”

Now Aqua hugs me. Galleria is off the phone, and she catches a whiff of my so-called adoption drama. “So you're
not
legally adopted?” she asks, surprised.

“No, I'm not adopted, okay?” I huff, but Galleria is like a dog with a bone—she just won't leave it alone.

“But Mrs. Bosco is not gonna give you up or anything, is she?”

I don't even want to
think
about that. She said she wouldn't, but what do I know? “I don't know, Galleria.”

They get really quiet, which makes me mad uncomfortable, so I change the subject. “So what did your mom say?”

“Um, she wanted to know why we were just finding out about the contest,” Galleria says slowly. “I told her that's how this whole show-biz thing flows, you know? It moves on a dime and our time.”

“It does say a ‘home-made video,' though,” Angie says, trying to be helpful.

“Yeah, that's what I told her—so we've just gotta hook up the lights-camera-action situation on the Q.T.,” Galleria says, like she's not stressing it. “Mom thinks my dad may have a video camera. He's over at one of the contractors' right now.” Galleria's parents own a clothing factory and boutique called Toto in New York … Fun in Diva Sizes. I guess the contractors are their suppliers or something.

“See, I know Granddaddy Walker has a video camera,” Aqua says, thinking out loud. Granddaddy Walker owns a funeral parlor in Houston.

“He's not videotaping those dead people in the coffins, is he,
mamacita
?” Chanel asks, getting the spookies.

“Yes, Chanel—he especially
loves
the part after he puts the embalming fluid in the body, and the dead corpse jumps up on the table when the rigor mortis sets in!”

I start chuckling, because I feel so much better that we aren't talking about my home situation.

“That's what really happens!” Aqua claims, bugging her eyes.

“It's true—we saw it one time when we were little,” Angie adds, giggling. No wonder the twins love horror movies so much!

We all are in a good mood now. “Well, let's get rolling on ‘Operation Videotape!'” Bubbles commands. “We're on a roll now,
girlitas
!”

Chapter 4

M
rs. Tattle is waiting in my living room when I get home. She looks kinda tired, and her clothes are all wrinkled. She even has a run in her stocking, and a spot on her pink blouse (it looks like tomato sauce), but I guess I'd better not say anything. She is pretty nice as caseworkers go, and I don't want to embarrass her. Besides, caseworkers write up recommendations about whether you get to stay in your foster home or not—so they have a lot of power over kids like me, and the last thing you want to do is make a bad impression.

“Sit down, Dorinda—take a load off,” Mrs. Bosco says, stroking the hair on her wig in the front. I'm so glad she is wearing her special wig. See, Princess Pamela (the girlfriend of Chanel's dad) styled Mrs. Bosco's wig for my so-called adoption party. Princess Pamela is a dope hairdresser, and a psychic, too! Now, Mrs. Bosco keeps the wig in a net in her wig drawer, and only takes it out for special occasions. I wish she would wear it all the time, because the other ones look, well, kinda fake, if you know what I'm saying.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Mrs. Bosco asks Mrs. Tattle, but I know she will probably say, “No, thank you.” She always does. Mrs. Tattle is usually in a hurry. Mrs. Bosco says the caseworkers who work for the city—as opposed to private foster care agencies—always have too big a caseload, and they don't get paid enough to deal with all the headaches that come with the territory. Mrs. Bosco must be right, 'cuz Mrs. Tattle has bags under her eyes that look more like suitcases!