Wishing on a Star Read Free Page A

Ha.”
    Hip-hop, hooray. This girl is going to the same school I am, even though our majors are different!
    “I’m gonna be checking for you, girlita. I’m there tomorrow, too, or I’ll be a T square. I’m majoring in fashion merchandising and buying—I’ve got a passion for fashion but can’t cut my way out of Barbie’s cardboard wardrobe. I leave that to my mom. She’s a majordomo dope designer. You scared about going to high school?”
    “No. I’m cooler than a fan, baby. Well, okeydokey, a little,” Dorinda replies. “It’s farther away from my house than I’m used to traveling in the A.M. , if you know what I’m saying. And it’ll take away from the time I used to spend helping my mom get everyone ready for school.”
    Another entry flashes on my screen. “Hey, Bubbles! Let’s wear our leopard miniskirts with berets, but with a different-colored turtleneck. Which do you want to wear, red or black?”
    Chuchie is finally in the house. “Gucci for Chuchie! No diggity, no doubt. You’re late. This is Dorinda and she’s going to be in the house with us tomorrow. Where you been?”
    “Pucci lost one of his Whacky Babies—Oscar the Ostrich. That beaten-up thing was his favorite, too.
Ay, caramba
, I was so glad that he finally fell asleep on top of Mr. Mushy. Now he’ll be crying when he wakes up tomorrow and sees he’s got a crushy Mr. Mushy, but I’m not moving him!”
    Pucci is Chuchie’s younger brother. He is nine, pudgy, spoiled to death, and has the biggest collection of Whacky Babies stuffed animals in the jungle. I call him “Eight Ball” because his head is shaven clean like a pool ball.
    I type back, “Ooh, that’s cold, Chanel No. 5. Dorinda is majoring in fashion design. Ain’t that dope?”
    “Cool, Miss Dorinda. Where do you live?”
    “116th and Lenox Ave.”
    “Uptown, baby, you gets down, baby?” Chuchie writes.
    “I try. I can move. I can groove. I’m gonna take dance classes at the YMCA on 135th ’cause I’m in the Junior Youth Entrepreneur Leadership Program there, so I get classes in everything for free.”
    “We got skills, too. We take dance and voice classes at Drinka Champagne’s Conservatory on Saturdays. You think you got more skills than us?”
    “No! I’m not flossin’.”
    “Correct,
mamacita
. Me and Galleria sing, too. What you know about that?”
    “Nothing. But I think I can sing, too—a little. I would like to, anyway. I’ll check for you two tomorrow and show you!”
    “Bet, Dorinda. Bubbles, don’t try to get out of it. What color top are you gonna wear? ‘Cause you better not wear the same color as me,
está bien
?”
    “Bubbles? That’s funny,” Dorinda types.
    “Chuchie calls me Bubbles because I love to chomp on gum. Something I cannot do in public because my mom says it’s tick-tacky,” I type for Dorinda. “I’ll wear the red top with the black scribble, okay?” I type to ease Chuchie’s mind.
    “Dorinda, where did you go to junior high?”
    “I went to Wagner,” Dorinda types back.
    “You really are a hoodie girl, huh?”
    “Guess so. It was two blocks from my house. Easy breezy on the traveling tip.”
    “That’s cool. It could be worse.”
    “Word?”
    “Word. At least you don’t live in the suburbs!” Chanel types, proud of her snaps. “Galleria is a boho because she is so ‘that,’ and I’m a Dominican bap, I guess, and proud of it. We’ll see if you can hang with us!”
    What does she mean by I’m so “that”? I’ll fix her. “You’re a burp!” I type back. “Boougie, undone, ridiculoso, and princess-y to the max. Don’t deny it.”
    “Don’t let me read you from cover to cover or you’ll never recover, Secret Agent Bubbles, okay,
mija
?” responds Chanel. “I’m going to wear the black turtleneck top with the leopard skirt, so you can go ahead with your red top.” I can just see her giggling. She is a majordomo gigglebox and can’t be stopped.
    “Maybe we can be a crew. You never