Dorinda's Secret by Deborah Gregory Page B

I’m really thinking is, Doesn’t she have anything better to do than bother me?
    â€œThanks, Mom,” I say, hoping she’ll squash this conversation, but I shoulda known better.
    â€œWe had a nice long talk, you know,” Mrs. Bosco continues. She is propped up on the bed eating a bowl of rice pudding. “I think that child needs someone to talk to.”
    â€œYeah,” I say, nodding my head.
    â€œShe says her parents want to meet you ’cuz she can’t stop talking about you,” Mrs. Bosco says, beaming.
    Oh, swelly, just what I need. Not just a new sister, but her parents, too!
    â€œMaybe it’s something important she needs to talk to you about,” Mrs. Bosco suggests. “I think you better call her.”
    â€œAfter we do the competition,” I say quickly. What I really mean is, after I’ve had time to break the news to my crew. “Then I’ll go see Tiffany and her family,” I offer, and quickly move on, changing the subject. “We had a great rehearsal tonight.”
    â€œThat’s good.”
    â€œI think we could really win this competition,” I say—and for a change, I really mean it. I hope Mrs. Bosco doesn’t ask to come to the competition, though, because I’m not ready to perform in front of her. I don’t really want any of my family around until I feel ready for the big time, know what I’m sayin’?
    â€œGood night,” I say, stifling a yawn. Mrs. Bosco doesn’t like to kiss or anything—I guess she doesn’t want to get too close to us, in case we get taken away someday—so I just smile and walk out of her bedroom and back to my own.
    Lying on my pillow, I wonder what Mrs. Bosco and Tiffany talked about. Tiffany Twitty sure gets chatty with everybody. I mean, she really runs her mouth faster than the Road Runner clocks miles.
    I wonder if she looks like our mother …?

Chapter 9
    N o matter how many times the Cheetah Girls perform, I always get a case of the spookies beforehand. Okay, so we haven’t performed that much, but I’ll bet it never goes away. Today is no exception. Even Aqua and Angie are faking that they’re not quaking.
    â€œWhere’s the Sandman?” Aqua asks, popping her eyes as she nervously looks around for him. Not that he booted us off the stage at the Amateur Hour contest—we came in second—but still, he’s a scary somebody to think about when you’re about to perform at the Apollo Theatre!
    We are instructed to head backstage and see the competition coordinator. On our way down the aisle, I check out the big sparkly banner that is spanning the stage: H OT 99 P RESENTS ‘T HE B ATTLE OF THE D IVETTES ’ C OMPETITION .
    Ms. Dorothea, who as our manager goes everywhere with us, is wearing a cheetah-spotted bustier, and her chest is covered with glitter. She looks like a movie star or something. One of the stagehands is goo-gahhing and peering down at Ms. Dorothea from the top of his ladder.
    â€œIf he paid as much attention to his job as he does to me, this place wouldn’t be falling apart!” she humphs as she herds us around her.
    The other stagehands are busy putting up banners. It seems like there are lots of companies sponsoring the competition.
    â€œOoh, looky, cooky, S.N.A.P.S. Cosmetics is one of the sponsors,” Galleria tells us, pointing to a banner.
    A pretty girl with a Dr. Seuss–type hat and a clipboard is talking into a walkie-talkie. Then, spotting Ms. Dorothea, she calls out our group’s name and walks over to us. “Well, I guess I had no trouble figuring out who you are,” the Dr. Seuss lady says to Ms. Dorothea.
    Ms. Dorothea beams, then says, “I’m Dorothea Garibaldi, the manager of the Cheetah Girls.”
    â€œOmigosh, I thought you were part of the group!” the Dr. Seuss lady exclaims. “Well, you look
fabulous
—I love that bustier. Where did