Oops, Doggy Dog!

by Deborah Gregory

  “‘Mom’ nothing! If I even see a gum wrapper on the sidewalk near you, the deal’s off!”

  Instantly, Chanel spits her big wad of gum into a tissue. “Done deal-i-o!” she says.

  “Chuchie, that is disgusting,” I moan.

  Mom stares at me harder.

  “But how am I gonna live up to my nickname?” I ask in despair.

  “I don’t know, but it’s gonna be awful hard recording a demo and chewing gum at the same time!” Mom says, not budging.

  “Oh, come on. I mean, have you ever heard of a ‘Bubbles’ without any gum? That’s like a Backstreet without a ‘Boy’ Or a Destiny without a ‘Child.’ Or a Britney without a ‘Spear.’”

  Mom is looking at me like I’m from Mars.

  “Okay!” I grab another tissue and spit mine into it. “Done deal-i-o.”

  “So we have a deal?”

  “In principle …”

  “Then empty out your pockets and gimme your emergency stash,” Mom commands.

  “I don’t have any more, Mom!”

  Chuchie grabs my backpack, with all my packs of bubble gum in it, and runs for the door. “I’m gonna dump these in the incinerator, Madrina!” she yells, giggling.

  Just when I thought Chuchie couldn’t go any lower for a chance to “shop in the name of love!” The first chance I get, I’m gonna hang her like a piñata, then whack her to see if any candy comes out. “I can’t believe this. Gum-jacked in my own living room! Is there nowhere safe in the world for an innocent child?”

  “I’m sure that’s not how Eddie Lizard thinks of you—which is all the time, judging by his phone calls,” Mom huffs back at me.

  “Has Eddie called me?” I ask excitedly, instantly forgetting about anything else.

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh … no reason …” I say. See, Eddie Lizard is this really cute boy I met at our Saturday vocal class, at Drinka Champagne’s Conservatory. I just love his eyes. I’ve never seen eyelashes so long. So when he asked me for my number, I gave it to him.

  For the first week, he was calling me every other minute. But it’s been two whole days now since I heard from him! Hmm … maybe he called me at home instead of on my cell phone, even though I told him not to. Yeah, that’s it, I’ll bet he called, and Mom picked up and scared him off!

  I can tell she doesn’t like him. She thinks Eddie Lizard is gonna drag me into a snake pit or something. She’s upset because he’s the first boy I’ve ever liked. But I’m fourteen! She should get over it, okay?

  I can hear Chanel talking to someone out in the hallway. It doesn’t take long to figure out who it is, either—Mrs. Brubaker. Bigmouthed Chuchie is spilling the refried beans! “Yes, she’s home. She was busy before!” Chuchie is really gonna get it later. She heard my mom say she didn’t want to be bothered with “Esther the pester.”

  Chuchie comes back inside and says, all chirpy, “Madrina, Mrs. Brubaker really wants to talk to you.”

  “Fine, Chanel, tell her to come in,” Mom says, rolling her eyes.

  “Look, Bubbles, Buffy is here!” Chanel says, moving out of the way so that Buffy can come waddling into our apartment.

  Jeez, Louise—Chuchie isn’t the only one who’s put on weight! Buffy looks like she’s had more than her share of Bow Wow treats lately. She is definitely extra plump-alicious.

  I wonder why Mrs. Brubaker brought her over here. She knows Toto is gonna pounce on Buffy like always. Sure enough, Toto comes barging out of the kitchen like an arrow shot from Cupid’s bow.

  “No, no, no! Get him away from her!” Mrs. Brubaker cries hysterically.

  I grab Toto and hold him while he squirms for dear life. “Stop it!” I hiss at him under my breath.

  Mrs. Brubaker calms down, then takes out a doggie wipe and cleans Buffy’s paws! She is definitely a major-domo clean freak.

  “Hi, Esther, what can I do for you?” Mom asks, without even inviting Mrs. Brubaker to sit down.

  “You know, Dorothea, we’ve been neighbors for quite some time, and this is very difficult for me,” Mrs. Brubaker starts in. “I’ve asked you very nicely to keep Toto away from my Buffy. I know you and Galleria think that may seem unkind, but now look at what he’s done!”

  “What exactly are you getting at?” Mom asks, puzzled.

  “I took Buffy for her checkup, because I was worried about her weight—and the doctor informs me that she is pregnant, and about to deliver any day!”

  “And what does that have to do with Toto?” Mom snipes impatiently “I mean, if he came anywhere near your dog, you’d skin him alive!”

  “Well, obviously, Toto has … um … had his way with Buffy. So I think you should pay for all her medical expenses.”

  We look at her like she’s crazy “You know, I’ve heard a lot of scams in my time, but this one really takes a bite out of crime!” Mom snarls. “If you want to sue for paternity payments, perhaps you should go sniffing around someone else!”

  “Dorothea, I do not allow Buffy out of the apartment, so I know it’s impossible for any other dog to be the father,” Mrs. Brubaker says, choking back tears. “He has always managed to sneak around her somehow. I don’t know how he does it.”

  “Well, I guess we’re gonna have to have a paternity test, aren’t we?” Mom shoots back. “And maybe we should call in Sergeant Snausage, the pet detective,” Mom says, referring to the TV cartoon character.

  “That’s enough, Dorothea! You people are impossible!”

  “You people?” Mom says, her voice getting scarily sarcastic.

  Thank gooseness Daddy comes in right then, just in time to save Mrs. Brubaker from getting whacked over the head with one of Mom’s cheetah purses.

  “Daddy!” I yell, running to the door and throwing my arms around him.

  “Come stai, cara?” Daddy greets me in Italian, his native language.

  “Molto bene, ma senti! La signora ha detto che—” I start to say, trying to clue him in to Mrs. Brubaker’s wack accusations.

  “Hello, Esther.” Daddy interrupts me.

  Mrs. Brubaker’s angry face has contorted into what looks like a wrinkled prune. “Your dog has impregnated Buffy. Your wife insists that isn’t possible, but I know that somehow, Toto has gotten to her. I don’t understand why you never had him fixed anyway.”

  “I don’t understand why you didn’t get Buffy fixed, if you’re so worried about male suitors!” Mom hisses, then looks at Dad like she wants him to handle this situation.

  Instead, Daddy breaks into a big embarrassed grin, and starts wringing his hands like he’s nervous.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny,” Mrs. Brubaker says.

  “Well, I guess I should have said something earlier,” Dad says. “Ah, Esther, do you remember the day they were putting the new furniture in your apartment?”

  Mom sees what he’s getting at. “Franco! How could you let Toto get at Buffy!” she blurts out angrily.

  “They were playing in the hallway,” Daddy says innocently. “I felt so bad for Toto. He never gets to see Buffy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt. Va bene?”

  Mom gives Daddy that look that used to scare me when I was little. She is really mad at him.

  “Well, I expect you’ll be paying for all Buffy’s medical expenses,” Mrs. Brubaker says triumphantly.

  “What about the puppies?” I blurt out.

  “We’ll discuss that another time. I must be getting home,” Mrs. Brubaker says hastily, then leaves in a huff.

  I want to yell for her to wait, but I know better. Mom is really mad at Dad. He’s gone off to the kitchen, trying to disappear, but I know that won’t work for long. They are going to have a big fight later, when they’re in their bedroom alone and the door is closed.

  “Can I have one of the puppies, Madrina?” Chuchie asks shamelessly, sounding like a puppy dog herself.

  “Wake up and smell the latte, darling,” Mom says, annoyed. “You know Juanita isn’t gonna let you get a dog. We’ll b
e lucky if we get one from that woman.” She punches a number into the phone. “What a day. I’d better let Juanita know you’re going to the studio, whether she likes it or not. And that I’m going to be a grandmother!”

  Chapter

  3

  The next morning I wake up with a serious case of “lockjaw.” I guess it’s from chewing so much bubble gum yesterday—and wearing braces for a thousand years (okay, five). I’m supposed to get them taken off real soon, and my teeth are dying to get out from “behind bars.”

  “Momsy-poo!” I scream, like I’m in pain. When I was little, I used to do this to see how fast she’d come running to my rescue. Now I do it just to annoy her.

  Mom ignores me, so I hop off the bed and march into her room. She’s sitting at her mirror, putting on one of her many wigs.

  “If I have to give up chewing gum,” I start in, “then can I least get my braces taken off before the studio session?”

  “I told you, Dr. Gold is booked solid. You can’t get an appointment with him until the next drought,” Mom says, being dramatic. “Galleria, you’ve lived this long with braces, a few more weeks won’t kill you. Be happy that I’m giving you money to buy something new for your studio session.”

  Mom is right. I accept her twenty-dollar bribe without a fight. “You said we should get a new look … like what?” I ask, fishing for advice.

  “Add some wigs to your act. It worked for Tina Turner and the Ikettes, it’ll work for the Cheetah Girls.”

  Mom’s gotta be kidding. Tina Turner and the Ikettes were really famous in the ’60s and ’70s, but what would the Cheetah Girls look like shaking a tail feather? Well, it is her twenty dollars, so I could think about it, I guess. Whatever makes her clever.

  “Mom, could you talk to Mrs. Brubaker and make sure we get the puppies?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Oh, don’t you worry, I’m going right over there before I leave for work.” Mom turns away from her mirror and gives me her full attention. “And you do mean puppy—not puppies—because we are not running a bichon bed-and-breakfast here!”

  “Okay,” I say, giving in. “One puppy, pleez.”

  As soon as I’m out of the house, I make a beeline to Singh’s deli to buy some forbidden bubble gum. “Mr. Singh, where’s the gum?” I ask, eyeing the empty racks.

  “Your mother was already here,” Mr. Singh says, chuckling.

  I feel my face burning as I realize that I’ve been outfoxed by my own mother—again! What’d she do, sneak out last night after fighting with Auntie Juanita? That’s right, she took Toto for a walk!

  Busted by Mom behind my back!

  “Awright, Mr. Singh. I’ll see you later.” I storm down First Avenue toward the subway station so I can catch the train to school. As I pass Ricky’s Urban Groove, this new cheetah-licious drugstore that opened last month, it occurs to me that I could sneak inside and see if they have any Biggies bubble gum. But before I can take a step, I notice a display of pink, blue, and purple bob wigs in the window. Suddenly, Mom’s advice comes back to me—“Add some wigs to your act”—and a light-bulb goes off in my brain.

  Holy, cannoli! The Cheetah Girls are gonna show up at Mouse’s studio decked in pink wigs! Humming all the way to the subway, I forget about the bubble gum—until I get to school and see everyone clamoring around Chanel, because she’s finally walking without crutches.

  “Mija, are you gonna take ballet classes again?” asks Daisy Duarte from our homeroom.

  “Yes. No. I mean, I’m just gonna do the warm-ups, but not anything else,” Chanel responds sheepishly.

  “I heard your singing group broke up. Is that true?” LaRonda chimes in.

  “Who told you that?” I ask, butting in. I wonder how LaRonda could say something so wack! I mean, we thought she was chill with us.

  “A lot of people at school are saying that,” LaRonda explains, embarrassed. “I don’t remember where I heard it.”

  I know she’s telling a fib-eroni. I wrack my brains trying to figure out who’s trying to squash our limelight by spreading such a nasty rumor. I mean, the list of sneaky-deaky culprits could go on till the break of dawn.

  “We haven’t done anything lately, but that doesn’t mean we’re not still together,” Dorinda pipes up in our defense. Where’d she come from? I didn’t even see her in the crowd—probably ’cuz she’s so tiny.

  “We’re going into the studio tomorrow with Mouse Almighty, the famous producer,” I chime in.

  “Really?” LaRonda says, like she doesn’t believe me.

  “Why do you say it like that?” Now I’m getting defensive, even though I liked LaRonda. Until now.

  “Last time I asked you, you said you hadn’t heard from the record company or anybody,” she explains.

  “Yeah, well, here’s a blow-by-blow, so don’t act like you know!”

  “Awright, Galleria, calm down. So y’all gonna go in the studio and do your songs?”

  Dorinda throws me a quick glance, like, “Here we go with round number two.”

  “No, LaRonda, we’re not gonna do our songs,” I say, feeling suddenly embarrassed and insecure about this whole studio thing. “We don’t know yet what songs Mouse wants us to sing. It’s, um, just a demo tape.”

  “Yeah, but at least it’s something,” LaRonda says, trying to reassure us now.

  “Yeah, or a whole lot of nothing,” I quip back.

  Dorinda nods her head in agreement. I notice that she has dark circles under her eyes, and I wonder what drama is going down at her house this time. See, Do’ Re Mi lives uptown on 116th Street, with her foster parents, Mr. and Mrs. Bosco. Last month they took in another foster child—their tenth or eleventh. So things are even more hectic than usual at Do’s house these days.

  “I’ll see you in a minute in homeroom,” Daisy Duarte says to Chuchie, and trails off down the hall. The rest of the pack of peeps huddled by our lockers slowly scatters.

  “I can’t believe LaRonda said that,” Dorinda says.

  “Yeah, whatever makes her clever,” I say. “But I’ll bet you I know who started the rumor. It was probably The Red Snapper.” The Red Snapper, alias Derek Ulysses Hambone, has a gold tooth, and a crush on me. We also call him “Mr. DUH” because of his initials. And because he’s pretty dense.

  “It could be the Mackerel, too,” adds Chuchie, referring to Derek’s main man Mackerel Johnson, who has pointy front teeth and a crush on Chanel.

  “I heard that,” Dorinda says, nodding in agreement. “But it could be anyone. There’s always somebody stirring up flackeroni in this school.”

  “Listen up, chicklets, I got an idea that will definitely show off our spots at Mouse’s studio,” I say excitedly. “Ricky’s has these shocking-pink wigs in the window. Let’s snatch us some, and wear them with our pink leopard tops for our studio debut!”

  Chuchie jumps up and down, panting like a puppy, but Dorinda doesn’t look sold.

  “Are you okay, Do’ Re Mi?” I ask, concerned. “You don’t like it?”

  “No, it’s cool, but, um … I really don’t have any money right now, ’cuz the Youth Entrepreneurship Program is closing until next semester.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that,” I say, feeling guilty. See, Dorinda works three days a week after school at the T-shirt stand in the lobby of the YMCA on 135th Street. That’s how she gets money for all the little extras Chuchie and I take for granted. Even Aqua and Angie get an allowance, and their dad pays for them to go to the beauty parlor once a month to get their nails and hair done.

  “Maybe we should wait till we see Aqua and Angie after school?” Dorinda suggests sheepishly “You know, see what they think?”

  “Awright,” I say, not wanting to make Dorinda feel bad. “But you know, my mom gave me enough money to buy something for both of us.”

  Dorinda doesn’t say anything, and I wonder if I’ve stuck my foot even further into my mouth. I decide to change the subject, pronto.

  “Toto’s pregnant,” I blurt ou
t, then correct myself. “I mean, Toto got Buffy pregnant.”

  “Word?” Dorinda chuckles, taking in this hot dog news.

  “And my mom said I can keep one of the puppies!” I say excitedly, then instantly feel bad. What was I thinking without blinking? What if Dorinda wanted one? I mean, she probably doesn’t even have a stuffed pet, let alone a real one.

  “I’ll see y’all after school,” Do’ says, hiking her cheetah backpack on her shoulders and scooting down the hall. Now I know she feels bad, ’cuz she left on the supa-quick tip.

  Cuchifrita Ballerina obviously doesn’t care. All she wants to know is how she can get her paws on a puppy. “Bubbles, you haven’t said anything—I mean nada, nada—about me getting one!”

  “Oh, stuff the fluff,” I snap at her. But she continues whining all the way to homeroom class. That’s where I spot our number one suspect—Derek Ulysses Hambone. Derek majors in Design, same as Dorinda, but from the looks of his Johnny Be Down get-ups, I think “talent” is just a word he knows how to spell. Maybe Derek dresses like all the other kids—like a hyena following the pack.

  Cheetah Girls are not about being copycats. Oh, snapples, that would make a good line in the Cheetah Girls Credo, I realize, and whip out my KittyKat notebook to scribble it down. This furry, spotted notebook is strictly for my songs, thoughts, and ideas—nothing to do with school. I carry it with me wherever I go, and however I flow.

  “True Cheetah Girls don’t run with wolves or hang with hyenas… .”

  Chuchie gives me a nudge, and cuts her eyes over to Derek. Mr. Hambone is huddled with his crew. I can see that he’s talking about us, because he is cutting his eyes over in our direction.

  “Mija, you were right,” Chuchie whispers. “It was Derek bocheenchando gossiping about us.”

  “Whatever makes him clever,” I mutter under my breath, tapping my pencil on the desk impatiently. Mr. Drezform, our homeroom teacher, hasn’t arrived yet, and the natives are getting restless. God, I wish I had some Biggies Bubbles!

  To get my mind off chewing bubble gum, I start daydreaming about Eddie Lizard again. Maybe I should call him after school. After all, there could be a very good reason he hasn’t called me. Maybe he’s sick, or hurt, and couldn’t reach me. Or maybe his father threw out my phone number by accident. Or maybe they’re both out of town on an emergency. There could be lots of good reasons he didn’t call! Yeah, sure, lots of reasons …