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Overview
The hairdresser of Galleria’s mom, Pepto B., gets a tip. Kahlua, the teenage R&B diva whose last single topped the charts, is coming to town. The Cheetahs hatch a plan—“Mission Kahlua”—in which they rock Pepto B.’s salon with their newest song, “More Pounce to the Ounce.” Kahlua hooks up a meeting with her record label executives in Hollywood. The girls snag a record deal and are ready to prove to the world that every cheetah has its day!
Praise for the Cheetah Girls series
“A new series just for ‘divettes-in-training’ . . . A light read for young teens who dream of stardom.” —School Library Journal
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781497677173 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Open Road Media |
| Publication date: | 08/12/2014 |
| Series: | The Cheetah Girls , #4 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 82 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
| Age Range: | 8 - 12 Years |
About the Author
Gregory has written for various magazines including Essence, More, Us Weekly, and Entertainment Weekly. In 1999 she penned the book series the Cheetah Girls. The books were adapted into a series of original movies by Disney Channel starting in 2003. She also wrote Catwalk and Catwalk: Strike a Pose.
Deborah Gregory was born in Brooklyn, New York. When she was only three years old, her mother was institutionalized, and young Deborah was put into foster care. As a teenager, she started designing her own clothes and fantasized about a singing career. At the age of eighteen, she attended the Fashion Institute of Technology. She graduated in 1986 with a BS in cultural studies from Empire State College. After graduation, she found success as a model in Europe.
Gregory has written for various magazines including Essence, More, Us Weekly, and Entertainment Weekly. In 1999 she penned the book series the Cheetah Girls. The books were adapted into a series of original movies by Disney Channel starting in 2003. She also wrote Catwalk and Catwalk: Strike a Pose.
Read an Excerpt
Hey, Ho, Hollywood!
The Cheetah Girls, Book 4
By Deborah Gregory
OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA
Copyright © 1999 Deborah GregoryAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4976-7717-3
CHAPTER 1
The plastic slipcover on the couch makes a real loud crunch sound when Galleria sits down. Me and Angie are used to the funny noise so we pay it no mind, but Galleria looks kinda embarrassed like she farted an "Alien egg," or something strange like that. Me and Angie just look at each other and smile because we're probably thinking the same thing. That's how it is when you're twins—you can read each other's mind, finish each other's sentences, and know when each other is "lying, crying, or testifying," even when you're not in the same room.
My sister Angie and I are as much alike as any identical twins you're ever gonna meet. When we stand together looking in the mirror, it's almost like we're two of those alien clones in horror movies (which we love).
I remember way back in sixth grade we fooled both our homeroom teachers by switching places on April Fools' Day. We didn't get into trouble, but we did get called to the principal's office. Still, "the Fabulous Walker Twins" pulled the best April Fools' Day joke that school ever saw! We go to high school in New York City nowadays, but we have not been forgotten. I guess you can't blame them for never putting identical twins in the same class again after that!
Now that we have turned thirteen (our birthday is September 9, which makes us practical-minded Virgos), Angie and I don't always dress alike anymore—which makes it easier to tell us apart. But even when we do put on the same outfit, you can tell I'm Aquanette. I'm the one who's always running my mouth. Anginette is more the quiet type. But as Big Momma says, "She doesn't miss a trick."
Big Momma is our maternal grandmother, and she loves to brag about us—even to ladies in the supermarket! "I can't tell which one of them is smarter or cuter sometimes," she'll say. Or, "You know they've been singing like angels since they were cooing in the cradle."
That's not exactly true. I think we started singing when we were about three years old. Anyway, Big Momma says, "Singing is a gift from the Lord." Well, nobody else in our family can even hold a note, so it must be true.
And I guess we're kinda cute: Angie and I are both brown-skinned, with nice "juicy" lips and big brown eyes. Still, we're not real pretty, like the rest of the Cheetah Girls—that would be Galleria "Bubbles" Garibaldi, Chanel "Chuchie" Simmons, and Dorinda "Do' Re Mi" Rogers. That's right—Angie and I have only just moved to New York, and here we are, already in a singing group!
Angie and I met Galleria and Chanel at the Kats and Kittys Klub Fourth of July Bash last summer. It was right after we moved to New York from Houston, leaving Ma, Big Momma, and all our cousins behind. We woulda been real lost if it hadn't been for our fellow Kats and Kittys.
In case you've never heard of it, the Kats and Kittys Klub is this national organization for young, up-and-coming African Americans. They do lots of things for the community, and we used to go all the time back home. So we were real happy to join the metropolitan chapter in New York City, and that they were havin' a Fourth of July bar-b-que. It was our first chance to meet kids our own age in the Big Apple.
So there we were, singing up a storm by the barbecue grill, when Chanel and Galleria started looking at us real funny. I guess we were kinda showing off. They were the prettiest girls we had seen in New York, even though Galleria wasn't very friendly to us at first. Luckily, Chanel was, and now we're all real good friends and singing together.
We can't wait till Ma meets Galleria and the rest of the Cheetah Girls—which may not be anytime soon. See, she and Daddy are getting a dee-vorce, and Ma remained in Houston, while Daddy moved up here to New York.
Of course, Daddy sent for us to come live with him, so he could keep an eye on us. He feels that Ma can't properly supervise us. See, she's a regional district sales manager for Avon, and travels quite a bit for her job. Daddy used to be her boss, but you knew that wasn't gonna last long, because he can be real hard on people.
Even though he's real hard on us, too—making us do our vocal exercises and clean our rooms every night—we know he loves us. And we are real glad he let us invite our friends over here tonight.
That's right—he told us we could invite the Cheetah Girls over! This is the first time we've had company in New York. And the only reason Daddy said okay is because his new girlfriend came over, too.
Her name is High Priestess Abala Shaballa Bogo Hexagone, and believe it or not, she really is some kind of priestess from some far-away place we never even heard of (even though we don't really know what a High Priestess is for sure). Angie and I don't like her much, but Daddy sure does. She's real tall and pretty, so I guess I can understand why.
Anyway, she came over today with her ... well ... friends, if that's what you want to call them. If you ask me, they are some of the strangest people you'd ever want to meet. And tonight, they're cookin' up some kind of spooky ritual for the Cheetah Girls!
I told my friends all about this at our last Cheetah Girls council meeting. But they thought I was just joking! Well, I wasn't, and they're about to find that out!
See, as a singing group, we've only performed together once—at the Cheetah- Rama club last Halloween night. It was a lot of fun! I think the Kats and Kittys liked us, and we got paid, too! We even got a manager out of it—but Mr. Jackal Johnson turned out to be a crook.
Still, even though we haven't performed much, we've got the biggest night of our lives coming up. Tomorrow night, the Cheetah Girls are performing at the world-famous Apollo Thee-ay-ter! Angie and I have never been there before, but we've seen it on television, so we know it's real big, with a lot of seats and bright lights and everything.
Don't get me wrong. We're just performing in the Apollo Theatre Amateur Hour contest—but we're still real nervous about it. Most of all, we're real scared about the Apollo Sandman. He is this kooky guy in a clown outfit who pulls you off the stage if people start booing at you!
So High Priestess Abala invited her friends over here to conduct this ritual to give the Cheetah Girls more "Growl Power." That's what she said. It sounds okay, till you get a good look at what they're doing back there in the kitchen. They're all standing around this table preparing stuff and jabbering something or other. And believe me, they are a weird collection of folks. I'll tell you, I don't know who I'm more scared of—the Sandman, or High Priestess Abala and her friends.
While they're all back there makin' their "witches' brew," Galleria is putting on a show in our living room. (Chanel and Dorinda are on their way over, too. They're just late.)
"Well, Miss Aquanette and Anginette Walker, that's downright plummy that you finally invited me to your house. Well, you Southern belles are just so swell!" Galleria says, fluttering her pretty eyelashes, and mocking Angie and me.
She loves to do that, and we think it's kinda funny, how she can find a way to rhyme almost anything. We know she's just playing with us, though, because we have a lot of fun together. There is nobody back home in Houston like Galleria Garibaldi. As Big Momma would say, "They threw away the mold after they made her."
Next year, we hope Galleria and the rest of the Cheetah Girls are gonna transfer to our high school. See, they're freshmen at Fashion Industries High, but Angie and I go to LaGuardia High School of Performing Arts. It's very prestigious and all, so we're real lucky to be going there. We had to come to New York just for an audition, then go back home, all the way to Houston, and wait to see if we got accepted!
Angie and I just can't wait till the kids in our school see the Cheetah Girls singing together. They're gonna be so jealous—especially JuJu Beans Gonzalez, who's in our vocal and drama classes, and thinks she's the next Mo' Money Monique, just because she can rap and wiggle her shimmyshaker.
Angie and I don't dance that good, but still, we've got the shimmyshakers to do it, if we try real hard. That's all I'm saying. And we sing better than JuJu Beans does, even when we have colds (Angie and I always get sick together, too).
JuJu treats me and Angie like corn bread bakers, or something "country" like that, just because she has never been to Houston. Houston is beautiful—even Galleria's mom, Ms. Dorothea, says so.
Anyway, we've got all year to convince our teachers to let us perform together as the Cheetah Girls for LaGuardia's big June talent showcase. We've been praying on it, and God always gives us an answer (even though most of the time it's not near as quick as we'd like!).
Galleria is acting like company. She sips her lemonade all dainty, then places the glass on its coaster on the coffee table—like it's Aladdin's lamp or something, and she's afraid all the wishes are gonna fly out of it!
Then she sits back on the couch with her legs tight together and her hands on her knees—just like some of the New York ladies sit in church (like they don't belong in the house of the Lord, or they don't know how they're supposed to sit in the pew).
"Dag on, Galleria, you don't have to be so proper. You can just be yourself," I heckle her, then throw Angie another glance. After all, we have seen the real Miss Galleria, and believe us, she does just as she pleases.
Now Galleria's eyes are moving around the living room like a pair of Ping-Pong balls. "Those drapes look like they belong in the Taj Mahal," she says, like she's amusing herself at a porch party down South, or something fancy like that.
The drapes are kinda nice, though. They're ivory chiffon, with a scarf valance that has fringes, just like the panels.
Daddy decorated the living room himself, right down to the plastic slipcovers—and he's real proud of it. The big glass coffee table has a brass lion base, and the only thing we're allowed to keep on top of the glass is a big white leather-bound Holy Bible. Then there's a big white shag rug shaped like a bear, lying in the center of the floor. The head has real ivory-looking fang teeth—we checked his mouth with a flashlight!
Daddy keeps his new snow globe collection in a big white wooden case with glass partitions. The snow globes are on the top shelves, and the bottom shelves are lined with his precious collection of LP albums—not CDs, but real records of people like Marvin Gaye, the Supremes, the Temptations. Daddy says he's invested too much in his record collection to start buying CDs now. When we were little, if we ever messed with Daddy's records, or broke one, he would get real mad at us.
"Holy cannoli, we got records like this too—but Momsy keeps them in storage, where they're just collecting dust!" Galleria says, laughing. "We could play Frisbee with one of these!"
She pretends to toss the vinyl record at me, but she knows better, because she's real careful putting it back into its jacket. Even she can tell Daddy is real particular about things. That's why he keeps the sofa and sectionals covered in plastic—"because the fabric is a very delicate imported ivory silk," he says. So nobody ends up sittin' on the couch but company.
Even Daddy, when he sits in the living room, sits in the big brown leather reclining chair—so he can watch the big television, which is behind a set of wooden panels. The couch just sits there, showin' off, "no use to nobody," as Big Momma used to say. But this is Daddy's house now, and he decorates it like he pleases.
One thing is for sure—our house in New York (we call it a house even though it's just a two-bedroom duplex apartment) is decorated real different from the way Ma decorated our house in Houston. Daddy likes everything to be white, ivory, or brown, which are his favorite colors. Ma liked peach, and green, and blue colors.
Before I start making myself jittery again—about tonight and tomorrow night—the doorbell rings. Thank God, it's finally Chanel and Dorinda. After quick kisses and hugs, Chanel becomes fascinated with our house too.
"Ooh, qué bonita! My abuela Florita would love these," she coos, pointing to Daddy's prized collection of snow globes. (That's her grandma she's talkin' about. That's how they say it in Spanish.)
"Abuela just loves the snow here. She'll go outside on her stoop and sit there all day, waiting for snowflakes to hit her on the nose!" Chanel takes the castle snow globe and shakes it up and down, to see the snow fall.
"Daddy just started collecting those. It's really kinda strange," I explain, my voice trailing off as I start to think how much Daddy has changed since he moved up here to New York.
"Aqua, what's wrong with collecting snow globes?" Dorinda asks.
Galleria has finally jumped up from the couch, now that Chanel and Dorinda are here. "Your daddy's probably fascinated by the snow we have here in 'New Yawk,"' she says with a laugh. "Wait till he experiences his first snowstorm—he'll be throwing those things out the window!
"My dad used to love the snow," she goes on. "When I was little, he would get more upset than I did if it didn't snow before Christmas. Then we had that majordomo snowstorm a few years ago, and it completely covered my Dad's van. He sat at the window for three days, cursing in Italian till he could shovel his van out!"
"It's not just the snow globes,Galleria," I say, exasperated. "That was only the beginning. Then he bought a blender—"
"What's wrong with a blender?" Chanel asks.
"Now everything he eats comes outta that thing!" I say, exasperated.
Chanel bursts out laughing, which makes Galleria and even Dorinda smirk.
"I wish I had a blender," Dorinda says, narrowing her eyes at me, which almost makes her look like a real cheetah. "Where I live, I've got to chop up all the vegetables by hand." Dorinda lives in an apartment with about ten foster brothers and sisters. Bless her heart. I wouldn't trade with her for nothing in the world. Lucky for her, her foster mother just adopted her—so at least she knows she can keep on living where she is, instead of going to another foster home.
Galleria is still riffing about Daddy's blender. "Oh, snapples, he blended apples, and now Aqua thinks he's gonna turn into Freddy!" Galleria snaps, doing the Cheetah Girl handshake with Chanel.
"What Aqua means, is—" Angie says, coming to my defense, "he used to love to cook, you know? Cajun crawfish—"
"—Steaks smothered in onions and gravy," I chime in, so they understand that our Daddy used to like to eat. "Now he's blending strange vegetables and fruits, and he sits there and drinks it, like it's supposed to be deelicious."
"And he expects us to drink those dees-gusting shakes too!" Angie cuts in.
"I mean, celery and turnip shakes—please, where's Mikki D's?" I say, rolling my eyes. My friends start laughing again, because they know we love to eat, too.
"Snow globes, a stupid blender, and now this," I say, pointing to the kitchen, where Daddy is standing with his new girlfriend and those other strange ladies she brought with her.
"What's her name again?" Chanel asks, pulling on one of her braids.
"High Priestess Abala Shaballa Bogo Hexagone,"I tell her. "She says she is a Hexagone High Priestess, and her ancestors reigned in Ancient Hexagonia." I roll my eyes like I can't believe it myself.
"Is a Hexagone High Priestess supposed to be like Nefertiti or someone like that?" Dorinda asks, narrowing her eyes again. She knows about all kinds of stuff, because she reads a whole lot of books.
"I don't think so, 'cuz this 'High Priestess' has definitely got a broomstick parked around the corner! Right, Angie?"
"I think High Priestess is just a fancy name for witch!" Angie answers.
"Parate, Aqua," Chanel says, bursting into giggles. "Help, you're killing me—maybe she's a good witch, mija?"
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Hey, Ho, Hollywood! by Deborah Gregory. Copyright © 1999 Deborah Gregory. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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