Dorinda's Secret (6 page)

Ms. Dorothea plops down a platter of sandwiches on the shelves where hats are displayed. The sandwiches look really fancy, and I'm afraid to touch them.

“Darling, go on—take one. It's Black Forest ham and brie, laced with honey mustard.”

I don't know what Black Forest ham is, but it sounds exotic, so I dig in—and it is
mm-mm
good! I'm munching away, and I look at Ms. Dorothea with a nervous smile.

Why am I nervous? Well, partly, it's the videotaping. But mostly, it's because I'm meeting Tiffany right afterward—and I haven't said a word to anybody! Not even Chanel—and I tell Chanel
everything
.

I'm wondering if I should tell Ms. Dorothea about Tiffany. I
know
Ms. Dorothea would understand how confused I feel about everything. At my “adoption” party, she was crying, and she told me everything about her missing mother.

No … I think it's better if I don't say anything—not yet, anyway. Not till I know what's the deal-io.

Bubbles's dog Toto (they named the store for him) is lying with his nose pressed to the floor. Toto is the dopest dog in the jiggy jungle. Right now, he looks like a fluffy pancake.

“Hi, Toto,” I coo, and he immediately cocks his head and patters over, rubbing his body against my knees. He is wearing the cutest outfit. He's gonna be featured in our video, but that's not why he's all dressed up. See, Galleria and her mom love to make outfits for him anytime there's leftover fabric. That dog has more costumes than
we
do—well, so far, anyway. This one's a yellow-net tutu, with cheetah ribbons streaming all over the place.

“Ooh, I've got a dope idea,” Chanel says, fondling the cheetah ribbons on Toto's tutu. “I could put these on one of
my
tutus.” Chanel used to take ballet lessons. She stopped her ballet training because Galleria didn't want to do it anymore—and those two are the dynamic duo: whatever one does, the other has to do. They're “thicker than forty thieves,” as the rap song “Don't Bite the Flavor that You Savor,” says. Anyway, I can tell Chanel still loves ballet, even though she pretends she doesn't.

Toto rolls over on his back and puts his front paws in the air. “He really likes getting his stomach rubbed,” I chuckle.

“Yeah, and he'd be happy if you alternated it with fanning his fur and feeding him some grapes!” Ms. Dorothea humphs. “All Toto needs now is a harem.” She leads us to the front of the store, where she poses us against the cheetah-wallpapered wall.

“What's a harem?” Angie asks.

“It's lots of pretty girls who run around with veils, and with their belly buttons sticking out, pampering the whims of horribly rich princes,” Ms. Dorothea explains.

Chanel lets out a giggle, then starts wiggling her middle and pretending to fan Toto with her scarf. See, Chanel's mom, Juanita, takes belly-dancing lessons all the time now. Her boyfriend is this rich businessman who lives in Paris, France. Chanel calls him Mr. Tycoon. I think Chanel's mom is trying to be his one-woman harem, 'cuz she sure is working hard at those belly-dancing lessons.

“Chanel, you'd better feed him something, or he's gonna bite you,” Ms. Dorothea chuckles.

“
Madrina
, I'm not giving him my sandwich,
está bien
?” Chanel says, picking up her sandwich and gobbling it down.

Mr. Garibaldi is videotaping everything we do. He seems excited—kind of like a kid with a new toy.

“I always wanted to be like Fellini,” Mr. Garibaldi tells us.

“Who is Fellini?” I ask curiously.

“Ah, Dor-i-n-d-a,
bella
, Federico Fellini was the greatest Italian movie director that
ever
lived.
É vero, cara
. It's true.”

“Darling, he made a fabulous movie called
La Dolce Vita
,” Ms. Dorothea pipes in, looking over at Mr. Garibaldi with stars in her eyes. “The first time I saw it was with my Franco, and I've been living it ever since.”

Franco is part of Mr. Garibaldi's first name—Francobollo, which means “stamp” in Italian. I'm not sure what
la dolce vita
means. As if reading my mind, Galleria looks at me and says, amused, “It means, ‘the sweet life.'”

“Word,” I say, chuckling. Mr. and Mrs. Garibaldi sure look like they have
la dolce vita
! They are so cute together—even if she is a head taller than he is.

“Okay, Cheetah Girls, stop eating, and let's get to work,” Mr. Garibaldi commands us.

The five of us are wearing the cheetah jump-suits Ms. Dorothea made for us when we gave our very first performance—last Halloween night at the Cheetah-Rama Club.

Ms. Dorothea seems to be having fun playing makeup artist and hairdresser. She keeps
poufing
us with powder, and fussing with our hair.

“Everything okay?” Ms. Dorothea asks, looking at me amused.

“
Tutti frutti
!” I heckle back. Galleria is so lucky to have Ms. Dorothea for a mother—but then, I guess I'm lucky too, having her as a manager.

“Then let's do it!” Chanel says.

The five of us strike a pose that satisfies both Mr. and Mrs. Garibaldi, and we begin singing “Wanna-be Stars in the Jiggy Jungle.”

After we finish, Mr. Garibaldi yells, “Cut,” just like a real movie director.

Galleria goes over and hugs him. “Thank you, Daddy. You're even better than Fellini. Now where's the linguine?”

Ms. Dorothea runs to the back to bring out the food. We dig into the linguine with clam sauce while Mr. Garibaldi puts his coat on. He's rushing over to the processing lab, then mailing off our videotape to Looking Good Productions, so we don't miss the deadline for the “Battle of the Divettes” competition.

“Let's go to Manhattan Mall!” Chuchie says excitedly.

Suddenly, I get nervous. I didn't count on going anywhere with my crew after we made a tape. I haven't even told them about Tiffany—let alone that I'm going to meet her this afternoon.

“I have to go meet my, um, caseworker, at twelve o'clock,” I say, embarrassed.

“I thought you met her yesterday,” Galleria says, puzzled.

“Yeah, well, she's, um, going on vacation for a long time, so I have to see her again,” I say, stammering.

Galleria puts her arm around me. I guess she feels sorry for me or something. I feel so stupid, but I'm just not ready to tell them about the sister situation. Maybe after I meet Tiffany—if everything goes well, that is.

I kiss everybody good-bye and anchor my skateboard under my arm.

“How come you have your skateboard with you?” Chanel asks, curious.

“I'm meeting Mrs. Tattle in Central Park with, um, some other kids,” I explain, feeling my face getting flushed.

“Maybe I could come with you and just hang out,” Chanel says, her eyes looking hopeful. Now I really feel bad. Chanel has been wanting me to teach her skateboarding ever since we met. Luckily, Galleria and the twins aren't having it.

“Chuchie, that's all you need is to go kadoodling around on a skateboard, and you won't be a wanna-be star anymore—you'll just be seeing stars, 'cuz you'll hurt yourself!”

“
I
sure wouldn't want to try it,” Aqua pipes up. “It looks
real
dangerous.”

“Well, I guess I shouldn't come today, anyway, since you're meeting with your caseworker and all,” Chanel says. “We'll go skateboarding soon, though, right? When it's just us two, and you can give me a lesson,
está bien
?”

“Word,
mamacita
,” I say, chuckling.

Chanel's not quite over the disappointment yet, though. She touches the grip tape on my skateboard and follows the deck with her fingers. I can see Chanel is fascinated. That's one of the many things we have in common—she likes to move and groove with the wind as much as I do. She's athletic like me, too—I mean, she did all those years of ballet—and she could probably learn to skateboard pretty fast if I found the time to teach her.

“The kicktail on mine only has a slight angle,” I explain. “It's the same in the front and back. This is the kind you get when you're into freestyle.”

“Do you have to wear high-top sneakers?” Chanel asks, looking down at my sneaks.

“Yeah—with reinforcement on the side. You can really mess up regular sneakers when you do ollies or fakies—this way, you can keep your ankles tweaked.” I know Chanel understands how important it is to protect your ankles because of her ballet training.

“Good, golly, what's an ollie?” Aqua asks, still munching on the linguine. When there's good food around, you practically have to pry the twins away from it with a crowbar, you know what I'm saying?

Chuckling, I put the skateboard down for a second to show them an ollie. “You hit the kick-tail with your back foot, then you kinda jump.”

“Whoa, Miss Dorinda, I don't want you to take the mannequins in the window with you,” Ms. Dorothea warns me. “Shouldn't you be wearing knee pads or something?”

“I usually do—but I lent my brother Khalil my board, and he lost all my safety equipment. So till I can afford some more … Anyway, it's only street boarding. I don't go very fast, or try to do any really fancy tricks.”

“Okay, well just be careful. Those ‘In the Dark' girls may be hobbling on canes for fun—but I don't want you needing one for real.”

“I'll be careful,” I reassure everyone. “Bye, y'all.”

I leave the store, and set off for the subway station, on my way to meet the half sister I never knew I had.

Something tells me this is going to be the ride of a lifetime.

Chapter 6

W
hen I get off the subway at Sixty-sixth Street and Broadway, I put my skateboard down on the sidewalk and skate into Central Park. I can't believe I'm going to meet my sister—my
real
sister, you know what I'm saying? I don't know whether I'm more thrilled or more scared!

“Coming through!” I yell politely, so this guy coming at me on a ten-speeder can leave me some room on the sidewalk. He's zooming past me, like he's a werewolf and his paws are on fire or something. Bicycle peeps are outta control in the Big Apple.

Once he passes, I jump-start my stride with a few back kicks, and start cruising along the path that leads into the park.

A ferocious breeze blows my way, so I zip up my jacket, pick up my skateboard, and walk down the steep steps toward the famous fountain in Central Park. I wonder if Tiffany is tiny like me? That's how I'll know if she is
really
my sister, I think to myself, chuckling inside.

But I can't shake how badly. I feel for not telling my crew about this whole drama. Now I'm quaking for faking, and I wish I could just turn back and hang with them at the Manhattan Mall, just like any other Sunday. But it's too late for that.

I see Mrs. Tattle standing by herself over by the pond area. I wave hello, then glance away, pretending that I'm looking at the ducks floating by on the dirty pond water.

I always feel self-conscious when I'm walking toward someone who's standing still. I feel like I'm gonna trip, or do something stupid, and then they won't like me anymore. Now I glance over at the people sitting in rowboats—aren't they cold? I wonder.

“Hi, Dorinda,” Mrs. Tattle beams at me. “I see you brought your skateboard.”

“Yeah, I boarded over from the subway station,” I say nervously, looking around. Next to me, a barefoot boy is sticking his toe in the brook. His mother glances at me, then turns back to her son and smiles. I can tell she is kinda poor, because her clothes look dirty. But at least
she
didn't give her son away. Suddenly, I feel sad about my situation. Why couldn't I have stayed with my mother from the beginning?

And where is Tiffany? I wonder. Maybe she didn't show up, after all.

As if reading my mind, Mrs. Tattle points to the hot dog vendor on the other side of the fountain, and says, “Tiffany is right over there, buying a hot dog. Would you like one?”

“No, thank you,” I tell her. “Ms. Dorothea—Galleria's mom—made lunch for us,” I respond. But the main reason is, I want to get a look at Tiffany before she sees me. That will give me a minute to check her out. Then, when she sees me, I can watch how she reacts to seeing me for the first time. I wonder if we look alike… .

In biology class in school, we're studying genetics—DNA and genes, and stuff like that. According to what our teacher says, you get half your genes from each parent. Half of who you are. So Tiffany and I will be half alike!

This is kinda exciting, after all. Scared as I am, I'm busy looking at the hot dog stand to see if I can pick out Tiffany. But I don't see anybody that looks remotely like she could be my sister.

What is Mrs. Tattle talking about? I look at her, just to make sure she hasn't gone cuckoo. I know she's supa busy with her caseload. Maybe she just goofed up; you know what I'm saying? Or maybe Tiffany went somewhere else in the park besides the hot dog stand.

Mrs. Tattle smiles at me nervously, then puts down her briefcase on the ground and folds her arms across her chest. I guess it must be kinda tiring, to carry a heavy briefcase around town all the time.

I wonder if Mrs. Tattle ever gets to have any fun, or what her husband is like. But I never ask caseworkers questions about their lives, because Mrs. Bosco says it's rude. She says, “They're just here to do their job, not to have us all up in their business.”

“Here comes Tiffany,” Mrs. Tattle says enthusiastically, as if she's announcing the arrival of a beauty contestant or something.

I look at the hot dog stand, to see who is walking in our direction. There's an older man with an overcoat full of holes and a feather in his hat, shuffling along like he's in a hurry. There is a group of little kids, running around in circles. And there's an old homeless lady, who is mumbling loudly to a group of pigeons while she scatters bread crumbs. Mrs. Tattle might really be cuckoo like that lady, I think, and start panicking.