Wishing on a Star Read Free Page B

know,” I type for Dorinda’s assurance.
    “Let’s meet outside the cafeteria at 12:00 sharp. But we’re not going in. I don’t want to get food poisoning my first day of school. You know what we’ll be wearing, so you can’t miss us!” Chanel signs off.
    “See ya and I’m tryin’ hard to be ya!” Dorinda retorts.
    This girl is quick. Maybe she
can
hang with us, I think, as I sign off, “Powder to the People!”
    “Powder to the People!” is a joke between me and Chanel. I’ll tell Dorinda about it tomorrow. For now, I log off and get back into bed.
    Toto is lying on the floor now with his nose pressed to the floor.
    “Toto, watcha thinkin’?” Cheez whiz, I wonder what it’s like to be a dog. One thing is for sure. They don’t have to get up at the crack of dawn and go to school.
    In the darkness, my fears dance around like Lotto balls. So I sing out loud to all the twinkle-dinkles like me, trying to sparkle in this crazy place called the Big Apple. A real deal jungle. We don’t have the grass and trees, but we do have some of the animals.
    “
Twinkle-dinkles, near or far,

stop the madness and be a star.
    Take your seat on the Ferris wheel
,
and strap yourself in for the man of steel.
    Welcome to the Glitterdome.

It’s any place you call home.
    Give me props, I’ll give you cash
,
then show you where my sparkles stashed.
    Glitter, glitter. Don’t be bitter!

Glitter, glitter. Don’t be bitter!

Glitter, glitter. Don’t be bitter!
”
    I drift into sleep, and I’m sure the fears have all been chased away. Not by my singing, but by Toto’s snoring, which is louder than the backfire from the Cockadoodle Donuts truck that passes by our street at four A.M. every morning. My songs are my secret weapon, though, for shooting straight to stardom….

Chapter
3
    Mr. Drezform, our new homeroom teacher, has trouble pronouncing my last name, like all the other teachers I’ve had since kindergarten. “Galleria Gareboodi?”
    “Here!” I yell out, smiling and raising my hand in the air like I just don’t care. “It’s Galleria Gar-i-bald-i.”
    This boy in front of me turns around and heckles me. “Gar-i-booty!” he says, and laughs. Then
everyone
else in the class turns to look at me.
    “
What
?” I ask, challenging him. “What’s your name, yo?”
    “Derek,” he says, still smiling.
    “Derek what?”
    “Derek Hambone,” he says. “The new brotha in town—from Detroit.”
    “Derek
what
?” I ask. “Did you say Hambone?” Now the class is laughing at him, not me. “Hah! You’d best not be laughing. Your last name sure ain’t no Happy Meal.”
    I snarl and squint my eyes. He turns away, busted. Now I’m looking at the back of his head, which has the letters “D U H” shaved into it. “Duh?” I say to Chanel, mouthing the words without sound. “What are we on—
Sesame Street
?”
    Derek is featuring a red, blue, and white Johnny BeDown shirt with matching droopy jeans covered with logos like a roadrunner map. Johnny BeDown clothes aren’t made by the Joker, if you know what I’m saying. You have to shell out serious duckets for them. They just
look
like the homeless catch of the day.
    There are three things I hate. 1. Cock-a-roaches. 2. Math tests. 3. Wack-a-doodle clothes. The first I can’t avoid unless I move out of New York City. The second two are
kinda
like roaches because they’re everywhere.
    I,
Galleria Garibaldi, will never dress like everybody else.
I write this in my freshman notebook using my purple pen. It’s true that I get my animal instincts from my mom, but I have my own flavor, ’cause I’ll wear cheetah prints in hot pink or lime green, and Mom sticks to the old-school ones.
    I remember I was only four years old when she bought me my first furry leopard coat with a matching hat. My father nicknamed me Miss Leoparda because I wore that coat to pieces. I also had a stuffed leopard animal named Cheetah Kat, which I took with me everywhere. And Toto now