“We got the situation under control, but thanks for the lookout,” Dorinda says, being nice. She is always nice to Mackerel and Derek, even though they usually ignore her.
After lunch, I feel so much better because Dorinda really helped me with my homework. She is so smart. I still feel dizzy, but I don’t say anything to Bubbles and Dorinda as we walk to dance class, which we all take together. I also decide I am not going home later, no matter what Mamí says.
“What did she say?” Bubbles asks me as I put down the cell phone after talking with Mamí.
“She said the construction company is going to send in an exterminator for the whole building,” I explain. See, Mamí owns the loft so it’s not like she can call a super for anything, like Madrina can. Mamí has to take care of everything herself and now that Daddy isn’t there, nothing gets taken care of, está bien? I look over at Dorinda and realize I shouldn’t complain. Her whole building is smelly and disgusting and I bet the super doesn’t do anything but watch the cucarachas play tic-tac-toe all day. Cuatro yuks.
Walking into the gym locker room, I tell Bubbles and Dorinda, “I’m not going home tonight.”
“Of course, you’re not,” Bubbles says firmly. “The only ‘Mouse’ we want to be in the house with is Mouse Almighty, and since he has forsaken us for a platinum pussycat named after a liqueur, we plan on staying mouse-less for a while, anyway.”
“Can I stay at your house tonight?” I ask Bubbles.
“You don’t have to ask, Miss Cuchifrito. As long as you don’t pull any pirouette moves and pull a muscle, the couch is yours,” Bubbles says, then giggles. “I’m only kidding. Consider it an official sleepover.”
Inside, I get excited. Now I’ll get to play with Ragu and Toto as long as I want. Suddenly, I feel like a babosa for being mad at Bubbles. If she wasn’t my friend, I don’t know what I would do.
Dorinda changes into her tights. I watch her carefully because I wish I was skinny like she is. As I go to put my foot in my tights, I lose my balance and bang into the locker.
“You awright?” Dorinda asks.
I rest my head against the locker for a second, then quickly say, “No, I’m okay. I just lost my balance. I was thinking about the stupid mouse again. His eyes were so black!”
Dorinda and Bubbles are so curious that they forget about my dizzy spell. “You could really see his eyes?” Dorinda asks in disbelief, her own almond-shaped brown eyes widening like she is watching a horror movie.
“Yeah, I saw them,” I say, nodding my head and wiggling into my tights. “I’ll never forget those beady, greedy eyes.” I catch a glimpse of myself in the long mirror and see that my tummy is a little flatter. Now I feel giddy because my carrot diet is working.
Dance class is our favorite class of the week at school, and we always stand in the back so we can watch each other’s moves carefully Today we have a substitute teacher, Mrs. Driscoll, and she is really working us hard. “One, two, three,” she says as we do our combinations, which seem harder than usual. As a matter of fact, my whole body is shaking. Turning on the jazz step, my legs feel like spaghetti, and suddenly, I feel myself falling on the gymnasium floor.
“Chuchie!!” Bubbles screams, but she sounds like she is a million miles away.
When I open my eyes, I am lying on a cot in the school nurse’s office. Mrs. Coates, the school nurse, comes right over. “Chanel, don’t be alarmed. You fainted,” she says in her soothing voice. I hear Bubbles talking in the background, but I can’t see her. “Can we see her now. She’s awake, I saw her,” Bubbles is saying to someone. I hold my head up and see that Bubbles is talking to Darrell, the school security guard.
“Auntie Juanita is on her way,” Bubbles whispers loudly across the room, motioning to me with her hands. Now I see that Dorinda is right beside her.
“Could you please just have a seat for a second,” Mrs. Coates says firmly to Bubbles and Dorinda.
I fight back the tears, because suddenly I realize what I have secretly known for a while. There is probably something really wrong with me and Mrs. Coates is going to tell me. They are probably going to take me to one of those special hospitals where they take really sick, terminally ill patients who can’t go home anymore. The tears start streaming down my face. That’s what I get for saying I didn’t want to go home anymore. Now I’m not going home for real.
Mrs. Coates stands by me and waits for me to stop crying. “Chanel,” she says gently.
I can’t answer Mrs. Coates because I am crying so hard. She stands there patiently, adjusting my intravenous bottle on its stand.
“Chanel, I need to ask you a few questions,” Mrs. Coates says, standing over me.
I nod “yes.”
“Upon examination, it seems you are completely dehydrated and carbohydrate deficient. The intravenous is feeding you glucose.” Mrs. Coates says. “What have you been eating?”
I wonder what carbohydrate deficient means, but I just take a deep sigh and tell Mrs. Coates the truth, “Carrots. Nothing but carrots.”
“That’s what I thought from the color on your fingers,” Mrs. Coates says, shaking her head. “Why would you do something like that?”
“I just wanted to lose weight,” I explain, sobbing.
“That is not the way to go about it,” Mrs. Coates stays sternly. “Your mother has been contacted and will be here shortly. She will be instructed to feed you lots of carbohydrates.”
“Carbohydrates?” I ask.
“You’re going to have to eat pasta, bread—in other words, young lady, anything but carrots for the next few days,” Mrs. Coates adds. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I say. “Do I have to go to a special hospital or something?”
“No. You keep this up, however, and you’ll end up in an eating disorder clinic. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand. If I don’t eat food, then I will have to go to a place where they force you to eat, right?” I respond to Mrs. Coates.
“That’s a dramatic way of putting it, but yes, your food intake would be monitored very closely,” Mrs. Coates explains.
No way, José! I want to scream. I don’t want to go home, but I don’t want to have to stay in some sort of creepy hospital and be force-fed.
“Okay, you can come over for a few minutes,” Mrs. Coates says, motioning to Bubbles and Dorinda.
“Okay, Bugs Bunny, we’re going to my house to eat, and you know what that means—pasta till it comes out your nose,” Bubbles says firmly. I feel so ashamed that I fainted and ended up causing everyone problems.
“I’m sorry, Bubbles,” I say, and the tears start streaming down my face.
Bubbles looks at me in the same way she did when I charged up Mamí’s credit card and got caught—like I’m a basket case babosa.
“Why did you do it?” Bubbles asks, and I can tell she really wants to know.
“I thought if I looked like Zimora Chin we could get a record deal quicker,” I say, laughing, because now I can hear how silly I sound. “That’s why I got my hair straightened too.”
“Wow. I don’t get you, Chuchie. I know you have a weakness for carats—but not this kind,” Bubbles says, turning to Dorinda who just shrugs her shoulders. At first, I don’t get what Bubbles means, then I understand. She is talking about the diamond stud earrings that Princess Pamela gave me from Tiffany’s.
“How do you make up these things in that piñata head of yours?”
“Well, you’re kinda bossy, Bubbles, and I never feel like I’m doing anything right,” I blurt out to my best friend.
“Chuchie, everything I do is to make sure that our dreams come true,” Bubbles whispers to me so that Dorinda doesn’t hear. “And besides, you’re kinda sneaky!”
“No, I’m not!” I wince, but I know it’s true. It seems like I’m always keeping secrets.
“Okay, I take it back,” Bubbles says smiling and holding my hand. “You’re very sneaky!”
“I know,” I sigh, defeated.
Then I ask the question that I’ve been avoiding. “But what is going to happen about the competition?”
“I don’t know,” Bubbles says, shaking her head sadly.
The door opens and Mamí walks in. Now I know the answer to that question. She’s not going to let us go on Saturday. I know Mamí.
As Mamí walks toward me, I notice she is wearing makeup and a pink knit cap. When I look closer, I realize that it is my pink knit cap, but I don’t say anything. Mamí looks so pretty. Bubbles is really nice to Mamí and tries to make it sound like I fainted because I was upset by the mouse, but Mrs. Coates comes over and puts an end to that fake medical report.
“Your daughter was severely dehydrated from lack of sufficient caloric intake.” Mrs. Coates goes on explaining to Mamí the extent of my incident. “But you can take her home and contact your physician should there be any further complications.”
Further complications? I wonder what Mrs. Coates means by that, but I don’t ask. Bubbles helps me up from the gurney. I expect Mamí to yell at me, but she is very calm and talks to Bubbles in a normal voice.
“Dottie is waiting for us,” Mamí says to Bubbles. I wonder if Mamí is going to spend the night in our “mouse house” or if she is going to spend the night at Mr. Tycoon’s.
“I feel okay, now,” I tell Mamí so she doesn’t worry about me.
Mamí just smiles at me and doesn’t say anything. She looks at my hands and I know just what she’s thinking. As we’re leaving, I want to ask Mrs. Coates why Bugs Bunny didn’t have orange fingers too.
“I got your clothes from the gym locker,” Bubbles says, carrying my backpack for me. “I wish you could stay with us tonight, too, Do’.” Dorinda piles into the taxi after Bubbles because Mamí insists that we drop off Dorinda before we head to the Upper East Side. Dorinda doesn’t protest.
“Um, see you tomorrow,” Dorinda says when we reach 116th Street in front of the Cornwall Projects, where she lives. I’m so glad she said that, in case Mamí had any ideas about me staying home from school tomorrow. No way I want to miss school tomorrow so peeps can keep talking about me fainting in dance class.
When we get to Madrina’s, I run to her for a big hug. “I’m so sorry, Madrina,” I whisper into her ear.
Mamí and Madrina go into the kitchen together and we can hear them talking loudly all the way in the living room.
“I knew her fingers were orange for a reason,” Mamí moans.
“So what do you want, Juanita,” Madrina says, raising her voice, “a Cracker Jack prize? I wouldn’t worry about the carrots if I were you. It’s time to stop pretending everything is okay between you and your daughter.”
Bubbles and I look at each other like, someone call the referee, please.
“Okay,” Bubbles says, jumping up. “Daddy’s on his way home, but we don’t have to wait for him to cook. I know how to throw down too.”
“I don’t think you should go in the kitchen,” I say, wincing. But Bubbles doesn’t listen to me. She waltzes right into the kitchen and I can hear her fumbling in the cupboards. “Oops,” Bubbles says, dropping something on the kitchen floor. “Sorry, Mr. Rigatoni, but your services won’t be needed tonight. Mr. Fettuccine is the flour of the hour.”
I can tell that Mamí and Madrina are ignoring Bubbles because they keep talking for a few more minutes before they come out into the living room. I hope Madrina talked Mamí into letting us perform on Saturday. Por favor, Dios.
While Bubbles is boiling the fettuccine, Uncle Franco comes home. I see his face, and that’s when I realize how embarrassed I am. Uncle Franco always cooks for us and I feel bad for lying to him about eating his food last Sunday. Or I should say not eating his food. He puts his arms out for me to hug him and says, “If you wanted me to cook for you again—all you had to do was ask, cara. You didn’t have to faint for it.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Franco,” I say, whining. Mamí is staring at me, then she takes a deep breath. “I have to meet the exterminator in half an hour.”
“Listen, Juanita, you can go ahead now. If anything happens, I’ll call you, but she’ll be fine here,” Madrina says. I am so relieved that I am spending the night here. Waiting for dinner, I start to think maybe Madrina is right: there is something wrong between Mamí and me. I guess it isn’t normal that I hate her sometimes. I bet she calls Daddy and tells him what happened. I hate to disappoint Daddy—again.
I make sure to eat all the fettuccine carbonara on my plate, then ask for a second helping.
“Wow, take it easy, greasy,” Bubbles says, smiling at me.
“I guess I didn’t realize I was so hungry until now,” I say, smiling nervously.
“Maybe that’s a blessing, Chanel,” Madrina says, delicately putting the fettuccine on her fork. “I always realize I’m hungry an hour before my stomach does.”
After we finish eating and are watching television, I decide to get the nerve up to ask Madrina the question we all want to know. “Are we going to perform on Saturday in the competition?” I ask, unbuttoning my pants so my stomach can breathe.
Madrina takes forever to answer. “I’m gonna make you the same deal I made Bubbles. If I see one carrot within one block of you, you can kiss that Girlie Show Boutique certificate good-bye!”
Bubbles jumps up from the couch and hugs me tight, then gives me a Cheetah Girls handshake. “Come on, Chuchie, let’s twist again like we did last summer!’
Chapter
10
By Saturday morning I feel stronger than Superwoman, Batgirl, and Catwoman all rolled into one cheetah mamacita. Mamí doesn’t put up a fight at all about me going to Drinka Champagne’s for my vocal classes, or competing later in the competition. She seems kinda different today, and I’m so embarrassed about the incident at school. I mean, it’s been a long time since she had to come pick me up from school like I was little kid with a tummyache.
“You should let me handle it!” Pucci yells at Mamí. He is kinda upset with Mamí, though, for letting the exterminator remove all of his glue traps.
“He wanted to see if his peanut butter mousetraps would work,” I tell Danitra and some of the other peeps at Drinka’s.
Today, of course, everybody at Drinka’s is amped up about the competition later. “Mostly everybody is coming,” squeals Danitra, who is the only other student besides Fabulina Fredericks who took the competition bait.
“Honey, I don’t need any more dance classes!” exclaims Malcolm Extra, who waves his hand when asked why he didn’t enter the competition. He is a supa chilly falsetto singer who also goes to Performing Arts with Aqua and Angie.
“You girls are gonna have to be ferocious today,” Winnie the receptionist yells to us as she walks into the vocal studio. I guess she means all of us, not just the Cheetah Girls I realize, disappointed. (We think Winnie really likes us the best of all the students.)
“We know. We’re gonna have to really bring it today,” Dorinda whispers to our crew. I can tell by the scrunchies on her forehead that she is worried and nervous at the same time, just like I am.
“We were so worried about you, Miss Chanel,” Aqua says as we take our place in vocal class. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I swear we are going to enter you in the Urban Rodeo Contest in Houston and see how long you last on that mechanical bronco!”
“I know,” I say, wincing. “Just call me basta, pasta from now on, está bien?”
“Uh-oh, SpaghettiOs,” Bubbles says under her breath when she sees that oh-so-slippery Eddie Lizard. I can tell just by the way she looks at him that I am right. She still has a crush—tiene un coco—on Eddie Lizard! At least Aqua pretends she doesn’t see him. Bubbles runs over to talk to Eddie Lizard like someone shot her out of a cannonball. I try not to act like I care. I guess it does make me sad, though, that Mackerel isn’t going to come see us perform at the Harlem School competition.
“It would take a mighty storm to keep that Hambone character away from Bubbles,” Aqua chuckles, still p
retending she doesn’t see Eddie Lizard. Aqua met Derek and Mackerel at the Mad Millenium Fashion Show we all went to at Times Square. Derek was in the show and he invited us. “I thought he was gonna fall in the punch bowl and go swimming,” exclaims Aqua, smacking her lips.
I don’t say anything because it’s obvious that Mackerel wouldn’t do the same thing for me.
It’s not until we’re backstage in the dressing room at the Harlem School of the Arts competition that I get the nerve up to ask Bubbles what she was talking about to Eddie Lizard today. “Oh, he says he’s coming to see us perform,” Bubbles says, a satisfied smirk on her face.
“What are you going to do, Miss Galleria, with two suitors coming to fill your glass with punch?” Aqua asks curiously while she changes into her red cheetah dress. (I’m so glad Madrina talked us into wearing red for the competition because it matches the Christmas decorations all around the auditorium.)
“I don’t know—keep them on separate sides of the room, I guess,” Bubbles coos back, like her dance card is always full. There are two dressing areas in the back—one for boy acts and one for the girls—but there is no privacy because it is just a big, communal space, so we have to stand in front of each other while we’re changing.
“I can’t believe Monie hooked you up,” I say, gushing over Dorinda’s straight hairstyle. Dorinda’s older foster sister who she calls Monie the meanie behind her back has finally decided to go to beauty school and become a hairstylist. Dorinda became her first subject, or your could say, first victim, judging by all the burn marks Dorinda has. Pobrecita Dorinda pulls back her bangs to show us the burn marks from the hot comb on her temple.
“Did it hurt?” I ask.
“Probably not anymore than that gunk that Pepto B. put on your head,” Dorinda says, smoothing down her hair. “Nothing wrong with a few battle scars.”
“Lord knows the Cheetah Girls sure have enough of them,” Angie says, nodding her head like she is testifying in church.
Bow-wow Wow! Page 9
