Cuchifrita, Ballerina

by Deborah Gregory

  “I think we look dope in this one,” Do’ Re Mi chuckles, pointing to a picture of us performing onstage at the Cheetah-Rama for the Kats and Kittys Klub Halloween Bash. It was the first time we performed together as the Cheetah Girls—and Dorinda split her costume onstage! It was una catástrofe, but the audience clapped anyway, because it was all of our friends and Kats and Kittys members from all over the country—well, the East Coast, anyway.

  “I guess this picture was, um, taken, before you did the lickety-split onstage, right, mamacita?” I giggle.

  “Word, I guess so,” Dorinda chuckles back.

  “How did you get this?” Bubbles asks, surprised.

  “Batman,” says Dorinda matter-of-factly. See, Derek Ulysses Hambone, who is in our homeroom class, came to the Halloween Bash dressed as Batman. We almost didn’t recognize the Caped Crusader without the baggy clothes he usually wears at school. Derek joined the Kats and Kittys Klub because he is goo-goo ga-ga over Bubbles. That’s why we nicknamed him the Red Snapper—because he’s always snap ping at Bubbles’ heels, está bien? His family has a lot of duckets, so he could afford to join our social club—but he would never have joined if he wasn’t trying to get Bubbles to be his Batgirl, está bien?

  “Good ole Red Snapper came through, huh?” Bubbles says, wistfully staring at our picture. “Which brings me to our latest caper. My mom is gonna call Def Duck Records today, and tell them it’s time they laid at least one golden egg—by giving us a little showcase, so the East Coast Big Willies can see what we can do—and maybe Mouse Almighty will get motivated to take a nibble, know what I’m saying? ’Cuz we’re tired of playing.”

  “I heard that,” Dorinda retorts.

  “So let’s meet after school, and I’ll give you a full report—because she’ll have called me by then on my Miss Wiggy StarWac Phone,” Bubbles explains.

  Suddenly, I realize I’ve got a problem—I have to run right after school to get my pointe shoes at On Your Tippytoes, which is right down the block from the American Ballet Theatre! If I take the number one train, it’ll take me half an hour to get there, what with all the crowds bum-rushing the subway stations after school.

  “Está bien. Okay,” I hear myself say out loud—because I don’t want to upset Bubbles, now that she has forgiven me for our Houston fiasco. I’ll tell her after school.

  But wait—how’m I gonna do that? There’s no way I can be in two places at once! If I stick around with my crew after school, I’ll never make it uptown to get my pointe shoes and get to American Ballet Theatre before they close!

  Ay, caramba! What am I going to do now?

  Chapter

  6

  I’m so glad when Italian class is over, because I can talk to Melissa Hernández about my audition. She has been going to ballet school since she was five, and now splits her freshman classes between Fashion Industries East High School and Ballet Hispanico. Her parents worked it out with the principal. Next year, she has to decide if she is going to come here full-time, or go to Ballet Hispanico and commit to becoming a professional ballerina. In many ways, Melissa and I are in the same boat—we’re either gonna sink or float!

  “Hola, Chanel!” she says when she sees me. Melissa is even smaller than I am, and her legs are even more muscular.

  “Hola,” I respond, then blurt out, “I’ve gotta talk to you.”

  “Qué pasa—what’s up?” she asks.

  “You know the American Ballet Theatre is having tryouts for its Junior Corps, right?” I say, trying to catch my breath because I’m so excited.

  “Sí—I heard, but I’m staying at Ballet Hispanico till I decide what to do,” Melissa responds, like she thinks I’m telling her because she should audition.

  “I’m not talking about you, mija—I want to try out for it,” I say.

  “Oh!” Melissa responds like she’s really shocked. “You wanna try out?”

  “Sí, mija!” I say. I’m so excited, I want to grab Melissa by the shoulders and jump up and down with her.

  “Go for it, if you, um, think you’re ready,” Melissa says, hesitating.

  “You don’t think I can do it?” I ask, surprised. If anybody is on my side, I would have thought it would be Melissa.

  “No, Chanel, you are a great ballerina—but you haven’t been training that much lately, have you? Don’t you think maybe you should go back to ballet school for a year or two, then try to get into Junior Corps?”

  “I wasn’t training at all, until a couple of months ago,” I admit. “But ever since I started out with the Cheetah Girls, I’ve been practicing every day, just to make sure my dancing skills were in gear. Ill be okay.”

  “Then go for it,” Melissa says, grabbing me for a hug. “God bless you, mija, that you’re ready to make that decision. I’m still not ready.”

  “No?”

  “Part of me wants to do it, but another part of me isn’t sure I want to devote my whole life to dancing. There are so many other things I want to do.”

  It’s funny, but that’s exactly how I feel. I want to be a Cheetah Girl. I want to open a beauty salon—Miss Cuchifrita Curlz. I want to be a ballerina. I want to do it all!

  “I’m going by there today to see if I got an audition slot,” I say excitedly.

  “Good luck,” Melissa says, then adds, “If you want to practice together, let me know.”

  “Would you?” I say, my eyes brightening. “We have a big exercise studio in my apartment, you know—my mother had it built.” Suddenly, I wince inside, remembering that Melissa lives in Washington Heights, just like my abuela. Her parents spend every penny they have sending her to ballet school and keeping her in pointe shoes. Why did I have to open my boca grande again? Now she’s gonna be jealous!

  “I would love to. Can I come by at five o’clock today?” Melissa asks hopefully.

  “Okay,” I say, hugging her tight. “You can come by at five, for sure. Estás seguro?”

  “Sí, amor.”

  “Okay, I’ve gotta go meet Galleria and Dorinda now.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” Melissa says, and we head to the front of our school, where my crew is waiting for me.

  “It’s Melissa—so don’t dis her!” Bubbles greets Melissa when she sees us.

  “Hi, Galleria!” Melissa shoots back, then turns to me and says, “Tell me what happens—and I’ll see you later.”

  I feel my face turning red as Bubbles asks me, “What’s she talking about?”

  “Um, I told her that I’m going to try to get into the American Ballet Theatre—the Junior Corps—remember I told you?” I say defensively.

  “Oh, yeah—I know,” Bubbles says, like, “here goes Chuchie again.” She just doesn’t take me seriously, no matter what I try to do—write songs, be a ballerina, even that time I tried to make a dress in fifth grade—she just laughed when the seams came out crooked. Sometimes Bubbles acts just like my mother.

  “Let’s go over to Mo’ Betta Burger, so we can call my mom, find out what happened with Def Duck Records, and go over our strategy.”

  “Um, I have to go buy new pointe shoes so I can start doubling up on my pointe work,” I blurt out. “And then I have to go by American Ballet Th—”

  “Yeah, but Melissa said she’ll see you later. I’m not dumbo, gumbo, okay?” Bubbles says interrupting me. “That can wait.”

  “Oh,” I say in a high voice, like I forgot. “Melissa is going to practice with me—you know, she’s helping me out, because she goes to Ballet Hispanico.”

  “I know she goes to Ballet Hispanico,” Galleria says, like, “Duh, duncehead, I’m at the head of the class, so don’t try it.” I don’t think she likes the fact that Melissa is coming over.

  “Um, we weren’t going to practice today, were we?” I ask timidly. Suddenly, I feel my throat getting tense. I feel overwhelmed, like my worlds are colliding, and I’m singing, dancing, and doing hair as fast as I can!

  “I don’t know. I have to see what Mom says,” Galleria sa
ys strongly. “Maybe the Def puck peeps will want a whiff of our riff right away, you know what I’m saying?”

  I nod my head yes.

  “You can go after we finish, can’t you, Chuchie?”

  “Um, claro que sí—of course,” I back down, feeling totally embarrassed.

  As we walk on Eighth Avenue to Mo’ Betta Burger, Keisha Jackson from our homeroom class stops in our path. We’re not feeling Keisha Jackson, and she’s not feeling us, está bien? So we act like we don’t see her, because we’re so engrossed in our conversation. Actually, we’re practically fighting. I can tell Bubbles doesn’t like the idea of Melissa coming over to practice ballet with me. I guess she feels we should be spending every second outside of school doing something with the Cheetah Girls. But I want to practice ballet too. I just do!

  “Yo, Galleria and Chanel,” Keisha says. Galleria and I continue ignoring her, but Dorinda sort of nods at her and says, “What’s up, Keisha?”

  “Yo, I was wondering if I could buy one of them Cheetah Girls chokers,” Keisha holds her hands around her neck like she is choking herself.

  I feel my cheeks burning. I can’t believe she is still making fun of our Cheetah Girls chokers fiasco! See, when we first made them, and sold them to some peeps at school, they fell apart—the letters we glued on with Wacky Glue went kaflooey, and the snaps came off the closures in the back. I mean, it was una tragedia!

  Bubbles stops in her tracks and looks straight at Keisha. Uh-oh—I’m getting that Showdown at the Okie-Dokie Corral feeling all over again. Por favor, Dios, no otra vez!

  “Keisha,” Bubbles says, getting that annoyed tone in her voice. “How are you gonna buy a Cheetah Girls choker from us when the word on the street is, ‘You’re as broke as a bottle.’”

  “Ooooooo,” two girls in Keisha’s crew say in chorus.

  “Well, I thought, since the letters keep coming off and the snaps don’t snap, that maybe you were giving ’em away—you know, like they do when they’re trying to get rid of damaged merchandise at the Home De-poooo.”

  “Oh, I see, Keisha, you’re trying to show us that you do more than sleep in merchandising class. Wonder why you got a ‘D’ on the test then.”

  “How do you know what I got on the test?” Keisha asks, finally wiping the smirk off her face.

  “I guess a little Red Snapper told me,” Bubbles says, now satisfied that Derek Hambone was telling the truth after all. Everybody at school knows that Derek is cuckoo for Bubbles, so it doesn’t take long for Keisha to figure out who the ‘Red Snapper’ is—since he’s in her Merchandising class too.

  “Derek told you?” Keisha asks, with enough attitude to hook a shark.

  Bubbles ignores her again. Keisha finally struts away. Even though he can be a pain, I feel sorry for Derek now. I wouldn’t want Keisha to be mad at me. She can breathe more fire than Puff the Magic Dragon—without even opening her mouth!

  Once Keisha and her crew are on their way, Dorinda asks Bubbles, “When are we gonna sell some more Cheetah Girls chokers again, anyway?”

  I feel my throat getting tense again. With school, rehearsing for our group, practicing for the ballet audition, working at Toto in New York, Madrina’s boutique—I don’t want to think about one more thing! No más, por favor! I wait with bated breath for Bubbles’ response.

  “I think we’d better chill with the choker skills for now. I just want to get in with Mouse Almighty alrighty,” Bubbles says, looking at us for support. “It makes me gaspitate to wait, you know what I’m saying?”

  “Word. Me too,” Dorinda says, hiking her cheetah backpack on her tiny shoulders, like her burden suddenly got heavier.

  All of sudden, I trip on a crack in the sidewalk, and the sprain in my ankle starts to hurt again. “Ouch!” I wince.

  “You all right, Chanel?” Dorinda asks, touching my arm.

  “I hate the sidewalks here—the cracks are so big you could fall in a hole and nobody would find you for weeks.” I don’t want Dorinda to help me get my balance. I haven’t told anybody that I’ve been feeling light-headed lately, and I don’t want anybody asking me about it. I don’t know why it’s happening, but it just happened again, and that’s kind of why I fell.

  Whatever the reason, my ankle is bothering me again now. I limp a few steps to try and walk off the pain. I could whack Pucci for tripping me yesterday. That’s probably why my ankle is still bothering me. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been overdoing my ballet practice the last couple of days.

  “Is your ankle still hurting, Chuchie?” Bubbles asks.

  “No—I told you, it’s fine now. I just slipped on the stupid rug that time!”

  Dorinda and Bubbles look at each other like I’m getting cuckoo, which I’m not. I’m just tired of them making a big deal-io out of it. Basta!

  Bubbles pulls out her cell phone to call Madrina at her boutique. While talking on the phone, she holds out her hand to Dorinda to do the Cheetah Girls’ handshake. That means something good has happened. I get excited too—and then I feel suddenly nervous. What about my ballet practice?

  We plop down at a bench in Mo’ Betta’s, and wait for Bubbles to get off the phone.

  “We’re in there like swimwear,” Bubbles says, extending her hand to Dorinda to do the Cheetah Girls’ handshake again.

  Why didn’t she do it to me? Suddenly, I feel jittery again.

  “The Def Duck Records A&R guy on the East Coast—’member Freddy Fudge?—has agreed to let us do a showcase at the Leaping Frog Lounge downtown,” Bubbles explains, chomping into her fries. “It seems they’ve got some new artists they want to check out, so Mom’s idea was right on time.”

  “Why didn’t they think of it themselves?” Dorinda asks, like she’s our manager.

  “I guess that’s why Mom’s our manager—so let’s go with the flow!” Bubbles says, shrugging her shoulders. “They agreed with Mom, that maybe if Mouse Almighty sees us in action, he’ll get the right honchos at the label to get on board our choo-choo train, and let him shop for some material for us—you know, look around for songs, I guess. He’s got that kind of juice—that’s what Freddy Fudge told Mom, anyway.”

  “Well then, what does Freddy Fudge do?” I ask.

  “I guess buy suits and get his hair dyed daily,” Bubbles chuckles. See, Freddy Fudge is this skinny guy with blond, short, fuzzy hair. When we went up to the record label to meet him and Mouse Almighty, Freddy was wearing this tan coolio black-and-white-checked blazer with a red handkerchief in the pocket.

  “He probably does like to shop a lot,” I say to my crew.

  “You would know—one shopaholic to another,” Bubbles riffs.

  I wish she would stop saying that about me. It’s not exactly true. Well, not lately.

  “I wish he would spend some time ‘shopping’ songs for us, so we could get in the studio and make a record,” Dorinda says, huffing.

  “So when do we get to be in this showcase?” I ask, feeling my heart fluttering. I hope it’s not before my audition for the ballet company Please don’t let it be before my audition!

  “They’re gonna arrange it, and get back to Mom about it,” Bubbles says. “It’ll be good—once Mouse Almighty gets a whiff of our flavor, he’s gonna want to shop for songs till he drops!”

  “Word, let’s hope so,” Dorinda says, chomping on her burger like a mischievous chimpanzee. I don’t want to tell her that she has ketchup on her mouth again, after all the time we’ve spent trying to teach her table manners. Meanwhile, I’m too nervous to eat, and Bubbles notices. “Chuchie, you’re not gonna eat?”

  “No—I have to go now and get my pointe shoes, and see if I got the audition appointment,” I say nervously I had an apple for breakfast and a glass of juice. I don’t want to eat anything else today, because then I’ll be too fat for my audition!

  “You sure didn’t eat a lot down in Texas—I was amazed,” Bubbles says, trying to figure out what’s going on.

  Dorinda saves me from Bubbles i
nterrogation when she blurts out, “What audition appointment?” I can’t believe she’s talking with her mouth full of Chunky Funky burger!

  “Remember I told you on the plane?” I remind her. “I’m going to audition for the Junior Corps Division of the American Ballet Theatre—if I get the appointment, that is.”

  “Word?” Dorinda asks. Bubbles doesn’t say a word. I know what they’re both thinking—after that klutzy performance at the twins’ house in Houston, the only thing I should be doing is pliés in my bedroom!

  I give Dorinda a look, like, “We’ll talk later.” Sometimes Dorinda and I talk on the phone. I feel more comfortable telling her certain things than I do Bubbles. And sometimes Do’ calls me, to tell me about what’s going on in her house. She lives with her foster parents, Mr. and Mrs. Bosco, and ten foster brothers and sisters, and she has a lot of problems at home. I feel so bad for her sometimes. Even when Mom is being mean to me, I know that my Abuela Florita really loves me, and so does Princess Pamela, my dad’s girlfriend. That’s more than Dorinda has.

  “Um … I gotta go,” I say, feeling bad that I have to leave my crew.

  “Okay—but we’re definitely gonna start practicing Tuesday or Wednesday, so plan on it,” Bubbles says in a mean tone.

  “I know,” I shoot back. “We can talk later in the chat room?”

  Not looking up from her plate of french fries, Bubbles moans, “Whatever makes you clever.”

  Ever since we became the Cheetah Girls, she’s starting to get a lot like Pucci—a real pain in the you-know-what!

  Chapter

  7

  My heart starts fluttering as soon as I gaze into the window of the dance store, On Your Tippytoes. All those tutus, pointe shoes, and tiaras—tan coolio! I love dance shops—even the smell of new leather soles on ballet slippers makes me intoxicated!

  Once inside, I head straight for the pointe shoes. On the way, I pass the rack for tights. I might as well pick up a new pair of pink ones for my audition, I tell myself. Pink tights and pink pointe shoes always make my legs look longer, and I want my legs to look like they go all the way to my neck!