Twinkle, Twinkle, Cheetah Stars

by Deborah Gregory

“Oh, Lord—what about Christmas?” I moan, letting my thoughts turn into spoken words.

  “Oh, no doubt, we’re not working on Christmas. But Mouse has to head to Holland the day after, and work on Sista Fudge’s remixes, because her album is dropping in February,” Galleria says without missing a beat.

  Now me and Angie look at each other like the ghost of Christmas past has finally visited our table. “Galleria, we were planning to spend two weeks down South with our family,” I say, my voice squeaking. Angie holds my hand underneath the table. We always do that when we’re scared. It’s funny how in one instant Angie and I go back to being two peas in a pod as soon as we feel like the outsiders.

  Galleria stares a hole into me without saying a word. Instead, I’m the one who says what needs to be said. “Maybe we won’t be going home.”

  “We have to talk to Daddy first,” Angie blurts out. For the second time, she is right. Truth is, you’d have to be lying dead with pennies covering your eyes, in a coffin in Granddaddy Walker’s Funeral Parlor, not to see that Daddy can’t wait to get rid of us for two weeks. No way does he want us here in New York for the holidays!

  “I don’t know, Galleria—since we were born, we have spent Christmas with our family—all of our family,” I mutter out loud.

  “That’s right—all two thousand of them,” adds Angie. God bless her. For once, she is trying to defend the both of us.

  Unlike her nature, Galleria bites into her pizza slice instead of chewing us out. Shoot, I’m sorry—if we don’t talk to Daddy about this, we could get grounded—for life.

  “You can come over my house for Christmas,” Chanel coos sweetly. “Why don’t the Cheetah Girls spend it together?”

  The silence at the table tells Chanel that her idea isn’t so swell. But for now, it’s Dorinda who hits the nail on the head: “If we don’t get to the Kats and Kittys meeting on time, Mrs. Bugge may pull our membership—for real.”

  Chapter

  2

  When the five of us walk into the Kats and Kittys Klub meeting at Riverside Church, Derek Hambone (aka the Red Snapper) and his rapping crony Mackerel Johnson light up like Christmas trees rigged with blinking lights gone haywire. Of course, they aren’t looking at the fabulous Walker twins. No, ma’am. The dynamic duo are ogling Galleria and Chanel like they’re cheetah-wrapped Christmas presents. See, Red Snapper and Mackerel go to Fashion Industries East High School with Galleria, Dorinda, and Chanel. Then they joined Kats and Kittys to be in the mix with “the objects of their affection.” Since it’s a free country (even if membership into Kats and Kittys isn’t), Derek and Mackerel got their parents to plunk down $600 for the Kats membership, so Galleria couldn’t do a thing about it.

  “Hey, Cheetah Girls,” says Mrs. Bugge, the chapter president and treasurer. She’s giving us a horse-and-phony-show smile, and even I can tell there’s something lurking behind it. I cut my eyes over at Angie just to see if she’s picked up on it, too. She has—I can tell by the way she shifts her eyes downward and doesn’t look at anybody. Now I glance at Mrs. Rhodes, the head of the events committee: her weak smile isn’t fooling us, either. Lord, there is definitely a fox stirring up things in this henhouse. Plunking down at the long wooden table, I tug at my denim skirt to pull it down—even though my legs are not visible under the table.

  As if reading our minds, Mrs. Bugge starts in with a weak apology: “Girls, I’m ever so sorry I didn’t attend your benefit, but my family obligations were out of order that weekend. Please don’t let anyone else get married this month or I’m going to lose my mind.”

  “We understand!” Chanel says cheerfully.

  “And getting everything organized for our holiday activities is about all I can handle,” Mrs. Bugge adds, for good measure. Suddenly, I realize maybe that’s why everybody is acting strange—they must feel bad for not supporting our benefit.

  Devonta Weekes, who, like Galleria and Chanel, is a teen adviser on the Party events committee, goes right for the bottom line: “How much did y’all rake in at that benefit, anyway?”

  Dorinda stares at Devonta like a deer caught in the headlights. “Um, we raised the money for, um, my brother Corky—to get an injunction against a court order from Child Welfare.” Dorinda stops, embarrassed about sharing her business. As it is, Dorinda already walks on eggshells because she got a free one-year membership to Kats and Kittys.

  But it’s Devonta who’s embarrassed. Even though she is brown-skinned like Angie and me, we can tell she is blushing. I’m proud of Dorinda for squashing Devonta’s overcooked curiosity. (Even though Dorinda didn’t explain it correctly—the money we raised was given to her foster mother, Mrs. Bosco, so she could get an attorney and fight Corky’s father from winning the custody battle.)

  “So y’all didn’t get to keep any of the money you raised?” Devonta pipes up again, like she can’t take a hint.

  “Look—the Def Duck Records peeps showed up and supported. That was reward enough,” Galleria says firmly. “They got so hyped by our performance that they gave Mouse Almighty a jingle so he could tingle about the Cheetah Girls again. Now we’re going back into the studio with Mouse to finish our demo. Why don’t you nibble on that for a while?”

  Galleria’s explanation definitely dulls Devonta’s curiosity about the duckets raised at the benefit. Everybody gets real quiet for a minute. Until finally, Indigo Luther, our teen chapter president, arrives so we can start our meeting. Miss Indigo is always late and I think she does it just so she can make an entrance. Already six feet tall (even though she is only in ninth grade, like us), and long-legged, she has enough attitude to fill a shopping mall. “Sorry I’m late, but I had an audition,” Indigo coos, slipping out of her signature hot-pink rabbit-fur jacket, which makes her look like a Hollywood snow bunny. It also makes poor Chanel, our resident pink junkie, salivate every time she sees it.

  “Really?” coos Brandy, who is not quite as tall as Indigo, and a whole lot sweeter. Brandy has the prettiest long wavy hair that is so thick it looks like bush-baby hair. And even though Brandy goes to the Bronx High School of Science, and is in the top-ten percentile of her school, she secretly wants to be a model, too, but she doesn’t have Indigo’s shameless confidence.

  “Yes—it was nothing, though. Just for the swim-suit issue of Elle Girl magazine,” Indigo sighs, pulling down her pink angora crop top to try and cover her belly button. “I got so cold standing around trying on all those bikinis. Who can think about what to wear at the beach when you’re butt is freezing!”

  “I thought they called those ‘go sees,”’ Galleria says, interrupting Indigo’s lovefest with herself. We all look up at Indigo, waiting for her response. See, Galleria and Indigo don’t exactly get along. You could say that their relationship is more like hot macaroni and cheese and cold potato salad—both can be served at the same meal, but they should stay on their side of the plate.

  “Excuse me?” Indigo asks, flustered.

  “Before, you said you went on an audition, but in modeling they’re called go-sees,” explains Galleria.

  “Oh, right—sometimes I get confused because I’m acting now, too,” Indigo says, tossing her long straightened hair out of her face.

  “Oh, you’re acting now?” Chanel asks. Indigo never said anything about acting before, but she’s so dramatic, I shouldn’t be surprised. Secretly I hope she stays right at Spence, where she belongs, and doesn’t get any bright ideas about transferring to our school, the Performing Arts Annex. Lord, that’s all we need.

  “All right, Kats and Kittys, can I have your attention, please?” Mrs. Bugge says, interrupting our Ping-Pong match. Everyone is quiet while she passes out the minutes from the last Kats and Kittys’ meeting. “Aquanette and Anginette, would you please give us an update on our annual Christmas volunteer drive so that we may open up the discussion and finalize the details.”

  Angie takes out the flyer that we designed for the Christmas drive and passes it around for approval. “This year, we�
��ve asked the pastor of our church if we could host a holiday dinner on Christmas day for the homeless,” I explain, trying not to be distracted by Indigo’s short skirt and the fact that she is swinging her knee like she’s testing her funny bone or something. “Plus, all the members of the church would pass out flyers in the neighborhood in advance, for clothing and toy donations, which will be given to the homeless people who stop in on Christmas day,” I continue, wondering if I sound like a drone clone—boring and boring.

  “And we would like to ask all Kats and Kittys members to distribute the flyers at your schools, supermarkets, and neighborhood bulletin boards, so that anyone can drop off clothing and toy donations to the church prior to Christmas day,” adds Angie, because I left that part out.

  “Thank you, Anginette and Aquanette. Let’s vote on their suggestion for the Kats and Kittys Christmas Volunteer Drive so that we can get it into motion,” Mrs. Bugge says, “First, we would like to now recognize all discussion from Kats and Kittys members.”

  Indigo raises her hand, then says, “Um, does your church have the space to hold enough people—in case a lot of, um, homeless people attend, because my church has a big recreation room—”

  “Yes,” blurts out Angie, cutting off Indigo and her lame suggestion.

  Chanel tries not to show her little smirk, but she can’t help it. Chanel is not going to be happy until Miss Indigo leaves her fur jacket “to her favorite señorita” in her last will and testament!

  Mrs. Bugge waits a few moments to see if any one else has any bright ideas or suggestions to improve our Christmas Volunteer Drive. “Okay, I make a motion for the discussion of the Christmas Volunteer Drive be closed,” she says. That means, whether they like it or not, our idea goes into effect for this year’s Kats and Kittys’ Volunteer Drive. Thank the Lord.

  “Second that,” says Galleria.

  “Motion granted. Anginette and Aquanette will drop off flyers this week to our chapter headquarters, and they will be circulated to each Kats and Kittys member in the mail,” Mrs. Bugge continues. “They have also agreed to drop off flyers at the Hallelujah Tabernacle Church for its members to circulate. Motion approved for this year’s Kats and Kittys Volunteer Drive. I now open the floor to Devonta Weekes, our teen adviser for the party committee.”

  Galleria and Chanel look at each other in surprise. Usually they get to open the discussion for all our party and event activities. Since when does Devonta get to lead?

  Devonta opens up a folder and pauses. “For this year’s Christmas Eggnogger, we are going to throw it at the Weeping Willow instead of the Hound’s Club, as was suggested by Galleria and Chanel. Also, each non-senior member is expected to invite five guests. Senior members are expected to invite ten guests each. Mrs. Bugge is going to dispense the tickets for everyone in attendance.”

  “If any of you would like to receive more than ten tickets—including non-senior members—now is the time to tell me,” Mrs. Bugge says, smiling while handing out bright blue tickets. “Our Christmas bash has traditionally been the most well-attended event we throw annually. Last year, more than one thousand members attended—from Washington, D.C., Connecticut, Philadelphia, and New Jersey chapters.”

  “Everybody knows we throw the best Christmas party,” Indigo blurts out like a cheerleader. Well, it may be the best party, but I don’t think Angie and I can get more than ten people between us to pay ten dollars a ticket. We are always hitting up everybody at school, Drinka Champagne’s Conservatory, and church to come out and support us—and we just don’t know a whole lot of folks in New York. “Are we going to have to sell raffle tickets, too?” I ask hesitantly.

  “We’ll get to that in a minute,” Mrs. Bugge says. “Come on, someone here can take the initiative to sell more tickets—even if you contact Kats and Kittys outside of New York and get them to come—that counts as well.”

  “I’ll take more than five tickets,” flosses Indigo. I bet she is gonna twist everybody’s arm at Clinton High to attend.

  “All right, that’s the Christmas spirit!” exclaims Mrs. Bugge, obviously pleased with Indigo, who cuts a sly smile over at Derek. It figures she’d like Derek! After all, he is tall as a willow tree, just like her. A dark cloud passes over Galleria’s shiny face. I tap my foot nervously, because somebody is going to lay an egg before this meeting is over.

  “Okay, now I need five volunteers for the Eggnogger Cleanup Committee,” moans Devonta, tapping her foot like she’s imitating me. “Come on, y’all, the Weeping Willow is going to go boohoo if we leave their place a mess after our party.”

  A few reluctant members raise their hands to be on the cleanup committee.

  “Okay, let’s open discussion for the raffle prizes,” announces Mrs. Bugge.

  “My mom will donate a Chanel pocketbook,” Indigo volunteers quickly. Her mother works in the publicity department of Chanel. Hip, hip, hooray for her.

  “That’s our lead prize, then,” Mrs. Bugge says, handing Indigo a raffle ticket donation form for her mother to fill out.

  Galleria winces. Ms. Dorothea didn’t offer anything that fancy for the raffle. Knowing how persuasive Galleria can be, though, it’s not because she didn’t try. But nobody can blame Ms. Dorothea. She worked her butt off to help us put together the benefit. And thanks to her, it went off without a single hitch, thank you, ma’am. Galleria tries to disguise her pout: “My mom will donate a Toto in New York silk leopard scarf,” she mumbles almost to herself.

  “That’s great,” says Mrs. Donnell, one of the volunteer parents, trying to keep up the morale. “Listen up, Kats and Kittys, this is not a competition.”

  Angie pokes me under the table as if to say, This is so a competition!

  Secretly, I wish there was something we could donate—but Daddy works for a bug spray company. That’s probably why I feel a twinge of jealousy when Chanel announces proudly: “My stepmother will donate a gift certificate to her Princess Pamela Pampering Palace.”

  Talitha follows with a pair of tickets to the Broadway play Beauty and the Beast because her father is a Broadway producer. Devonta’s mother, who is a personal trainer at Crunch gym, has gotten the fancy health club to donate a one-year membership. Devonta takes the floor to discuss the entertainment plans for the Christmas party. This, of course, is the part that we’re all waiting to hear about. “We have secured Deejay Millie Shakes for the party,” Devonta announces, like it’s finally official.

  “What happened to Deejay Bisquick?” protests Galleria. She had her hopes up that we would be using the same deejay that she secured for last year’s Eggnogger.

  “We thought having a female deejay would be a nice change-up,” Devonta goes on to explain. “Some of the parents complained that the deejay last year played too much hip-hop music.”

  “Well, what else is there?” squeaks Dorinda, before turning red.

  “Well, she deejayed a birthday party for the Bakers, in Atlantic City, and we thought she did a great job,” chimes in Mrs. Donnell, letting us know how Deejay Millie Shakes got in the mix.

  “All right—but I hope she doesn’t get her needle stuck in the old-school groove,” Galleria whines, “That’s all I’m concerned about.”

  “No, Galleria, she got the party rolling. I know we’re old, but you have to trust us on this one.” Mrs. Donnell laughs and shakes her head.

  “She also met our price, too,” Devonta adds, letting us know the commitment stands. Galleria’s pout becomes more prominent. I know she is fuming that no one discussed this with her and Chanel.

  “Okay, now on to the entertainment portion,” Devonta leads in, ignoring Galleria’s dissatisfaction. “This year, um, we thought it would be the warmest welcome if our newest members to the metropolitan chapter of the Kats and Kittys Klub—Derek Ulysses Hambone and Mackerel Johnson, aka Mackerel and the Red Snapper—um, if they would perform at the Christmas Eggnogger.”

  At last, the fox has finally come out of the henhouse!

  “Um, what
do you mean?” blurts out Galleria, leveling her intense glare at Mrs. Bugge. “I thought you said we could perform.”

  “No, I didn’t say you could perform. I said I would think about it, Galleria,” Mrs. Bugge says, like she’s in a courtroom giving testimony. “Our organization is called Kats and Kittys—so sometimes we have to allow our male members to participate more fully. The Cheetah Girls performed at the Halloween Bash.”

  “Yeah, and we raised a lot of duckets, too,” Galleria mumbles, folding her arms tightly across her ample chest.

  “Yes, our Halloween bash has traditionally been one of the two fund-raising events we throw every year,” Mrs. Bugge explains, like she’s letting us know that the Cheetah Girls were not responsible for the funds raised. “And the entire accounting of those funds are in the minutes I’ve handed to you this evening—donations were sent to the Riverside Youth Fund, the Pediatric Illness Fund, as well as ACS, the Division of Foster Care, for aid allocation to Gaye, who is in the temporary custody of Mrs. Bosco.”

  “I know that,” Galleria says, like she’s winding up for round three.

  Ignoring Galleria’s defensive stance, Mrs. Bugge says with authority, “I move that we close the meeting. All Kats and Kittys are to hand in their ticket sales to me up to the day of the event.”

  “I second,” says Indigo with such force, I thought she was going to pull a gavel out of her Chanel purse and pound it on the table!

  Although Angie and I are usually slow to rise after the meeting, we jump up like jackrabbits, because we know Galleria wants to hightail it out of there.

  But we’re not the only ones chasing her tail. “Wait up, Galleria,” Derek calls out, chasing after her like he’s hooked to her heels. Galleria stomps in her tracks and Derek pulls her aside to try to calm her down, but he might as well have spouted saltwater in her face instead.

  “I’m not fretting, so don’t sweat it,” Galleria protests, trying to free her arm from the Red Snapper.

  “We really had nothing to do with—”