Free Dorinda's Secret by Deborah Gregory Page A

that’s when Galleria pounces.
    â€œYo, Do’ Re Mi, weeza in the house, pleeza, weeza!” she exclaims, hugging me and jumping up and down. I wait for Galleria to stop, so she can tell me why she’s so amped. Only this morning, she looked like she needed fifty cups of mochaccino (her favorite Italian coffee) to get her flow going—you know what I’m saying?
    â€œWe got into the competition!” she yells, and then starts taking deep breaths to calm down.
    â€œWord!” I say, bugging my eyes, ’cuz now I’m getting amped, too!
    Chanel comes outside to meet us, and Galleria puts on the same cheetah-certified show. “
Hola
, granola! Weeza in the house, weeza in the house!”
    Chuchie starts jumping up and down, screaming. She doesn’t even ask what Galleria is talking about. Sometimes the two of them communicate without saying a word, you know what I’m saying?
    Even though I’m happy, I feel that stabbing pain in my chest again—you know, kinda like my heart is cracked in pieces. Those two are bound till death, the dynamic duo, yo. They’re just letting me be part of
their
crew. They’re more like sisters than any sister I’ll ever have, I bet.
    All of a sudden, Chanel starts hugging me too. Whew. That makes me feel a little better, like I’m part of our crew after all. I take a deep breath, and wait for Galleria to give us the details about next Saturday.
    â€œIt’s a good thing we just performed in the New Talent Showcase,” Galleria says excitedly, “‘cuz we are definitely ready to battle with Freddy—”
    â€œOr any divette with a microphone—’cuz when we ’rock it to the beat, it’s rocked to the doggy bone,’” Chanel joins in, singing the lyrics from Galleria’s song “Woof, There It Is.” I join in for a chorus, as we walk to Mo’ Betta Burger on Eighth Avenue to get our grub on.
    When we get there, Galleria fills us in on the “Divette” scoop. “We have a microphone check at three o’clock Saturday and the doors open at seven P.M.”
    â€œAre the divettes representing from other places?” I ask, curious. See, when we performed in Def Duck Records’ New Talent Showcase in Los Angeles, they had groups from all over the country.
    â€œNo doubt about the East Coast clout,” Galleria says, nodding her head. “This is a regional contest, but the competition finals are gonna be held in the Big Apple, too, you know what I’m saying? Because they’re not playing—they know the winner is probably gonna come from the East Coast.”
    Galleria bops along with a satisfied smirk. She is so sure that we are gonna blow up our spots. “We have to be there at six sharp for the performance.”
    â€œWe’ll be there or be T-square,” I say, bopping along, too.
    â€œWhat are we gonna sing?” Chuchie asks.
    Oh, no, I think. Here we go again, with the drama over who gets to write our songs.
    â€œWhy, Chuchie?” Bubbles asks. “Have you written one we should memorize overnight and perform on Saturday,
so we can lose the competition
!” Like I said, these two are like sisters, Galleria can tell when Chanel has a few hedgehog tricks up her sleeve.
    â€œWhat happened?” Chanel exclaims, like she always does when she gets flustered. “No, I haven’t written any songs,
babosa
, but I thought maybe we could sing the one we wrote together—‘It’s Raining Benjamins.’”
    Actually, Galleria told me that Chanel only wrote one line in the whole song, but I can’t blame Chanel for trying. She just wants to feel like she has “Big Willy” skills too.
    â€œChuchie, we
are
going to perform ‘It’s Raining Benjamins’—but not on Saturday. We need more time to practice it and work out a routine or something.” Galleria crosses her arms in front of her,