Growl Power! Read Online Free Page B

of the jacket.
    “You look nice,” I tell Ma, giving her a hug, and savoring the sweet scent of her Shalimar cologne. I sure miss that smell.
    “Thank you, ‘Nettie One,”’ Mom says, stroking some misplaced strands on my bob into place. (That’s Mom’s nickname for me. Angie’s is “Nettie Two.” I guess it’s because I was born first—by five minutes.)
    “I don’t know where your uncle Skeeter is, but he was supposed to come to the airport with me to pick you girls up,” Ma adds, a flicker of darkness passing through her warm, brown eyes.
    I feel a twinge of disappointment, but I try to hide it. I love my uncle Skeeter, and I just assumed he would come with Ma to meet us. Uncle Skeeter is Ma’s younger brother—and a whole lot of fun.
    “How was your flight?” Ma asks, regaining her sweet composure.
    “Everybody loved our corn bread!” I tell her, breaking out into a big grin.
    “We made dinner all by ourselves, for our friends the Cheetah Girls,” Angie explains. “And we thought we’d bring you the leftovers. But you know how bad airline food is. Well, Angie and I ended up feeding half the passengers!”
    “Angie is exaggerating, of course,” I say. “We only fed about
fifty
.” I chuckle as I hand Ma the last container of potato salad, which we saved just for her. “Tell us what you think—it’s not as good as Big Momma’s, but I think you’ll like it. Our friends loved it.”
    “I’ll bet they did,” Ma says with a big smile. “Thank you, sweeties.”
    “Oh—here are some chocolate cannolis Mr. Garibaldi made for us,” Angie says, handing Ma the box.
    “Who is Mr. Gari-body?”
    “He’s Bubbles’s father—you know, Galleria from the Cheetah Girls,” Angie says, acting kinda “bubbly” herself.
    “We wish you could meet our friends. You’ll love the Cheetah Girls!” I add.
    “Well, I love these outfits—you picked these out yourselves?” Ma asks, curious.
    “No, remember we told you about Ms. Dorothea—that’s Bubbles’s mom, and she’s now our manager, too. Well, she made them for us after we performed at the Apollo Theatre. They were supposed to be a victory gift, but you know—we lost. So she surprised us with them anyway.”
    “Well, they are beautiful,” Ma says, but there is a tinge of something sad in her voice. Suddenly I feel guilty about being so close with Ms. Dorothea. ’Course, I know that’s silly, because Ma wants the best for us, even if she can’t be there to share in all the good and bad times.
    We all get real quiet for a second, and that’s when I notice Ma’s nails. The polish on them is chipped—which is strange, because she always keeps her nails nice. I can tell Ma’s still thinking—probably about Ms. Dorothea making us outfits and doing stuff for us. I can tell she feels sad about
something
.
    We drive onto the Southwest Freeway to get to our house in Sugar Land, which is a suburb in southwest Houston. Mom has put on her dark Gucci sunglasses, and her permed hair is blowing like feathers fluttering in the wind.
    “You just washed the car?” I ask her, admiring the spanking-clean upholstery.
    “Yes, indeed,” she says, taking a deep sigh. “You girls got any concerts coming up?”
    Dag on, why does everybody ask us that? You’d think we were Karma’s Children or something—touring around the world, and only coming back home to Houston for some corn bread and bedtime stories when we got exhausted from all that fame and fortune!
    “No, we don’t,” I respond.
    “Well, when are you gonna start recording for the record company—what’s it called again, Daffy Duck?”
    “No. It’s called Def Duck Records, Ma—but they might as well be ‘Daffy’, ’cuz we sure haven’t heard anything yet,” I huff. “Ms. Dorothea says we just have to sit tight.”
    Ma gets real quiet again. Why is it every time I mention Ms. Dorothea’s name, she seems to get upset?
    There
is
something different about Ma. Maybe it’s just