Shop in the Name of Love by Deborah Gregory Read Free Book Online

Bubbles is calling him a dodo bird in Italian. I
know
Derek isn’t going to win, because I
better
win. No one else deserves that Prada bag more than I do!
“Prada or nada”
is the motto I live and die by.
    “Awright, I’m gonna let you hit me up this time, Cheetah Girl, Derek says, like he is a loan officer at Banco Popular, “but you owe me
big-time
for this one.” Reaching into his baggy jeans, I wonder if Derek is ever gonna find the bottom of his deep, baggy pockets. I wonder how the “Red Snapper” is gonna get his money off the hook.
    See, Derek likes Bubbles—and he’s always snapping at her bait—that’s why we nicknamed him “Red Snapper”—and also because his best friend is Mackerel Johnson. Derek is the only one of his posse who is large enough to become a member of the Kats and Kittys Klub, though. It costs $650 a year.
    Mackerel smiles at me while he’s bouncing to some tune in his peanut-sized head. He is so hyper, he looks like a Chihuahua bobbing his head up and down.
    Oh, snapples, that’s what I could get Pucci! “My mom can’t say
nada
about a Chihuahua— they are so little, who could be allergic to them?
    Meanwhile, Bubbles is still closing the deal. “Thank you,
schemo
,” she smirks to Derek and Mackerel, stuffing their duckets into her chubby Cheetah wallet.
    “Shame on you, too, Cheetah Girl. Just be ready when it’s time to collect, awright?” Derek says, winking. Then he walks away with Mackerel.
    “You got one of them dog books from the library, right?” I say to Do’ Re Mi. I’m on a bowwow mission now.
    “Yeah, why?” Do’ Re Mi replies.
    “Look up the breed Chihuahua and see if they shed hair.”
    “Word. Wait, they ain’t got any hair,” Do’ Re Mi counters. She is so smart. The most book-smart of all of us.
    “Look it up anyway,” I giggle. “I think Miss Cuchifrita just got lucky See, if Chihuahuas don’t shed, then I can buy Pucci one for his birthday!”
    “If you buy Pucci a dog,
you’re
gonna end up at the dog pound for sure,” Bubbles quips to me. “And where you gonna get that kinda money?”
    “It’s three o’clock, y’all!” Do’ Re Mi says, setting off down the hallway in her size zero velvet jeans. “We better get over to the studio, and start gettin’ down!”
    “Oh, snapples, I forgot to get the agreement back from Princess Pamela,” I sigh to Bubbles.
    “What’s she doing with it?” Bubbles asks me, like she’s saying, “Don’t play with fire.”
    “I gave it to her so she could give it to my dad,” I said. “I didn’t have time to go all the way uptown, baby, okay? My mom is watching me like a hawk when she isn’t doing her exotic dancing!”
    “Mr. Johnson won’t mind if you don’t have the agreement. Just tell him we’ll bring it to him the next time,” Bubbles says, grabbing my arm and pulling me along. “Come on,
señorita
. We’ve got some singin’ to do!”
    Recording studios have more gadgets on the control board than I’ve ever seen in my life. “They got so many buttons, how do they know which ones to push?” I exclaim to Do’ Re Mi, who is
muy fascinado
with anything
electrónico
or
en la Web
.
    “That’s why he’s making the duckets.” Bubbles smirks to the engineer, who is sitting at the board with headphones on.
    Bubbles’s mom, Dorothea, has come with us to the studio, but the twins haven’t arrived yet.
    “This is Kew, the engineer,” Mr. Johnson says, introducing us as the Cheetah Girls. No matter how many times I hear our group’s name, it sounds like
la música
to my ears. I love it!
    “Mr. Johnson, can I speak to you for a minute?” Dorothea says. The two grown-ups go into another room—so they can talk business, I’m sure. Dorothea is all about the “Benjamins” and she doesn’t play. She looks
la dopa
today, too. She is wearing a big leopard hat, and leopard boots that make her look taller than “The Return of the Fifty-Foot Woman”— even though she is only six