Catwalk (10 page)

I stand with a hand on my hip, checking them out while they start riffing about an assignment in Illustration, then switch to the subject of sneakers. Suddenly, Zeus realizes that I’m being left out of the mix. “We’re serious sneakerheads, ya dig?” he explains.

Meanwhile, Shalimar must also be digging Ice Très, because she rolls right up. “I thought you were waiting outside biology for me?” she asks him boldly. I marvel at her sudden switch in taste sensations: obviously Zeus is no longer the cherry on top of her “opulent” fashion sundae.

“Oh, I thought you said chemistry,” shrieks Ice Très, guffawing like Roger Rabbit on helium.

Speaking of infectious laughs, Angora and Aphro finally arrive on the fashion scene, too. Aphro lets out a signature snort to release her anticipation. “It’s time to flip it like burgers, baby,
ayiight
!” she yelps.

“No doubt,” adds Ice Très, getting his flirt on, until Shalimar puts his moves into deep freeze.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” she asks him in her best Mrs. Softee voice, pulling him aside.

Ice Très shrinks inside his hoodie, smiling coyly as he’s dragged to the sidelines.

“What’s up with that?” Aphro asks me.

“Shalimar is obviously
hood
winked,” I say offhandedly, trying to keep the situation Lite FM.

“I wonder what she put in those sachets? Maybe we should have taken a whiff,” adds Felinez.

“Probably some of that Frankenstein stuff,” Aphro says with conviction.

“Frankincense,” Angora says.

“Whatever.” Aphro snorts again, becoming fascinated with the burnished metal symbol on my ceremony necklace. “Oooh, what’s up with this?” asks Aphro. She loves symbolic trinkets from around the world.

“I think it stands for ‘unity’ in the Iroquois tribe,” I say, trying to remember. I got it last year at Ooophelia’s, but I haven’t worn it yet because I wanted to work it with the right cultural theme, like I always do.

At last, Ms. Fab’s assistants, Farfalla and Sil Lai, approach with the important papers in their hands.

“And the winner is!” Aphro says, jumping up and down. Everybody giggles. Except for Shalimar. She stands with Ice Très at her side like she’s a presidential shoe-in. Now Aphro squirms her way up front while I stand pondering whether Ice Très is feeling Shalimar over me.

“No way, José,” Felinez says out loud, resting her paw on my forearm to balance herself as she stands on her tippy-toes to no avail. “Can you see?”

“Not a whiff,” I reply as Sil Lai posts the It List on the pink velvet board.

“
Chérie
, I can’t see either,” Angora adds, squinting.

Chandelier Spinelli squeals. “Guess Miss Piggy can see,” I observe, clutching Felinez’s sweaty paw. By now, Aphro has managed to elbow her way to the front of the fashionmongers and yells out loudly to us, “
Pashmina Purrstein, that’s what I’m talking about! We’re in the house. We’re in the house
. Omigod. Omigod!!”

“Yes!”
I scream, raising my cupped hand in the air.

“No!”
someone screams through their cupped hands like they’re maneuvering a bullhorn.

“Oh, snap!” yells someone else amid a round of hyena heckles. I don’t turn to glare at the source of the dis. Instead, I let Felinez envelop me in a bear hug. Then I close my eyes and press my head down against her fuzzy hair.

“We did it,
mija
!” Felinez says, gurgling against my chest, clutching me tighter. I inhale the sweet scent of Fanta orange soda that always clings to Felinez’s clothes. Sometimes I fiend for Fanta because of Felinez, but I’ve only seen those delicious orange cans in one place: “Uptown, baby, where they sip it down, baby!” I sing in my goofy voice.

Felinez giggles, then says, “Stop,
mija
. You’re giving me cramps!”

I let go quickly. “Oy, I can’t take two floods in one day!”

Felinez doubles over in laughter or pain; I’m not sure which, so I shut up for a
segundo
. Now Felinez’s face turns red.

“I’m just playing!” I say, hugging her again. “Seriously, I can’t do anything without you—not since I’m six.” This time when I open my eyes, Chintzy Colon is standing nearby, staring at me, her eyes wet from fresh tears like she’s a newly crowned beauty pageant contestant.

“Congratulations,” I coo, over Felinez’s shoulder.

“I didn’t get it,” Chintzy says, wincing. Then she hides quickly behind her Snap-On Smile. “I’m happy you won, though. You deserve it, Pashmina.”

Now I feel janky about snapping on her. Chintzy can be cool, even if she’s fortified by artificial sweeteners.

“I hope you’ll choose me to be in your house,” Chintzy says.

Felinez grabs my hand, so I slither away without responding, and we make our way to Aphro. I make sure, however, that we end up right near Zeus just in case he wants to beam me up.

“See, told you I voted for you!” Zeus says enthusiastically, then motions with his index finger to the lunchroom. “I’ma check you inside.”

I grin like I’m flattered even though I was hoping he
would drop a few more corn niblets in my direction. Felinez senses my longing and pulls my sleeve like a ventriloquist so I’ll gush on cue instead and not miss my five minutes of fashion fame. “God, I feel like Miss America!” I say.

“Don’t say that,
mija
. You’ll jinx yourself—cuz they always get caught in scandals!” Felinez warns me.

“Well, maybe I’m taking notes for my own scandal!” I declare joyously, staring at my name, the third on the list, before I make an observation that causes my smile to crumble like blue cheese. “Why is Shalimar’s name first?”

Shalimar Jackson

Willi Ninja, Jr.

Pashmina Purrstein

Anna Rex

Chandelier Spinelli

“Because it’s in alphabetical order, Miss Paranoid!” Angora says, wrapping her arms around me.

“Oh, right!” I respond, just in time to spot another sore loser: Moet Major who has cleverly folded her black satin baseball jacket emblazoned with
HOUSE OF MOET
over her arm.

“That’s what they have sample sales for,” Aphro says, referring to the sales where designers discard their surplus stock to make way for the next season.

“Yeah, I guess she let the cork out of the bottle
big-time,” I reply. Nonetheless, I feel bad for her, because that could have been me, so we hustle inside the Fashion Café and step to the counter.

“How’s the shrimp?” Felinez asks chirpily.

“So fresh, it’ll crawl on your plate by itself,” Velma, the crabby food attendant, shoots back.

Felinez takes a plate, then advises me to try the crab salad—so she can taste it, of course.

“No thanks, it sounds too itchy.” Instead, I turn around to scratch my deep desire: to see Zeus, who is perched at a table with his sound system on top of it. He beams at me from across the room. “He’s braving the fashion frontier!” I say excitedly.

While I’m busy ogling Zeus, all eyes are on Willi Ninja, Jr., who has just pranced into the Fashion Café, grinning from ear to ear, with his crew in tow. Doting Dulce stands to his side, meting out her Spadey sense. She clutches her red patent tote like she’s a fashion victor.

Suddenly, I overhear Shalimar explaining our private pose-off to Ice Très in a voice louder than a boom box: “We never know when the pose-off is happening until a few hours before. I’m telling you, it’s kept more top-secret than the designs for Barbie dolls, which are kept locked in the Mattel corporate vault!” she shrieks.

“I wish someone would lock her up in a vault—on time delay—and eat the key!” I grumble at my gumbo.

“Would you listen to Miss I Wanna Be Down? She’d better get that
bourgie
tone back in her voice before her parents cash in her stock options,” Aphro observes accurately.

“I can’t believe she’s digging him,” I say, puzzled.

“Puhleez.”
Aphro hmmphs. “She’s just sprinkling him to show us she can can.”

Secretly, I wish Ice Très would spread some of his sprinkles around again, like he did during elections. “I wonder what she really put in those sachets,” I repeat, shaking my head as Shalimar continues to babble:

“The trick is to hang loose and be ready for the signal. Like with musical chairs. Cuz once the hankie is dropped, you’re supposed to stop whatever you’re doing and start posing for points.”

“She did
not
say for points,” Aphro blurts out in disbelief. “She is such a shamorama. And always gotta explain everything in such big ‘O’ detail.”

Leana, the other Fashion Café attendant, starts in: “You lucky I don’t know how to vogue—cuz I’d show y’all how the real heffas shake it!” Cackling loudly, Leana drops a dollop of gooey gumbo on Shalimar’s plate.

I turn just in time to catch the Last of the Mohicans: Nole Canoli and his crew making their timely entrance. His late arrival signals that the pose-off is about to be on. Dame Leeds looks around the café like an
undercover spy, then snags a broom and runs to the door. He slides the broom sideways into the door handles, securing them. Now that the door is barred, absolutely no one will be allowed to enter the Fashion Café until the pose-off is
finito
.

“So much for the Teen Style Network,” I say with relief.

The crowd breaks out into a loud round of claps and piercing yelps. Nole and his crew join Chandelier and Tina at their table, letting it be publicly known where his allegiance stands. After exchanging air kisses, Chandelier cuts her slice of pizza with a plastic fork and knife, like she’s Princess Kryon at a socialite luncheon.

I’m too excited to sit down, and I can’t afford to take my eyes off Willi Ninja, Jr. None of us can. We’re waiting for our five minutes of fame.

In true dramatic form, Willi Ninja, Jr., signals the chef to hook him up with the special. “But don’t worry about a napkin, cuz I’m gonna use my hankie!
OOPS!
” he yells loudly, dropping his white cotton hankie with a flourish on the floor, and falling into a vogue step before his body hits the shiny pink-and-gray linoleum.

Zeus cranks up the music: bold lyrics delivered in the falsetto voice of a male singer over the spaced beats of hip-hop music.

“This is house, my house! In my house we work our
theme like the Dream Team. The theme of my house is more than a feeling. It’s homage to house maximus à la mode. It’s an attitude I’m taking straight to the bank. Homage to house maximus. Bank on my house. Next to Gucci, they get loosey. Next to Prada, there’s nada. Next to my house there is victory maximus. Homage to house. For real fashionistas. Because that’s what’s up. You must obey the rules in my house, so repeat after me. This is house, my house! And this is my homage maximus. Pose struck!”

The music vibrates with thunderous bass as all the students in the lunchroom break out in elaborate poses to profess our undying love for fashion. My lungs are filled with pride as I quickly observe that every single student has stepped to the Catwalk challenge. As usual, some of the more dedicated voguers have elevated their posing to a higher level by jumping on top of a lunchroom table. I stay on the floor so that I can meet Willi’s gaze as he challenges each of the other four house leaders—including me. Ninja, Jr., approaches me, utilizing the clean, sharp movements inspired by martial arts that earned his legendary father the moniker he passed on to his adopted son.

Screams of “Work, supermodel or be worked!” are heard over the hypnotic hip-hop beats.

I beam at Angora, Aphro, and even Felinez, who is no slouch in the voguing department. She has her own
salsafied ways of moving, which I love. Angora moves carefully, but I can tell she is serving her soufflé, as she would say. One day, I know that Angora is gonna break out and vogue like a real supermodel. I know she can.

I try to quickly take it all in: Willi Ninja, Jr., approaches Chandelier’s camp. Nole is holding Countess Coco and voguing, beaming like a proud fashion papa. Elgamela Sphinx gyrates her hips like a dreamy genie rising from a bottle. I know Elgamela is going to make the fiercest catwalker, and I feel a twinge of sadness that she won’t be in my house. Now I cut my eyes over to Shalimar, who is voguing with Ice Très. Once his eyes meet mine, he slithers toward me and vogues in my face, trying to press his body against mine. I block him with my outstretched arms, pushing him away. Shalimar’s shady eyes rest on me, so I decide to go with Ice Très’s flow just to set her off.

“Twirl!” Aphro shouts, watching Willi Ninja, Jr., who has just picked up Elgamela. In return, she stretches out her arms with complete abandon. After he puts her down to a round of applause, Willi Ninja, Jr., picks up the hankie and stretches his arms in a final pose, signaling the end of our pose-off.

Zeus turns off his tasty track, “Homage to House.” Then Dame Leeds removes the broom from the doors to the Fashion Café, but not before we get off another round of victory claps. For one more year, fashionistas
have pulled off our private pose-off without prying eyes upon us.

“Major purr points for Miss Angora,” I say proudly.

Once the doors are swung open, the Teen Style Network crew waltzes in. Their timing is perfect—for us. Zeus zooms past me with his sound system tucked under his arm, obviously on his way to his locker to hide the evidence. “Did you lace those lyrics yourself?” I shout after him.

He nods in the affirmative and hustles over quickly. “I’m honored to have been a part of this. I’ve never seen anything so tight before!”

“Well, you get major purr points for mixing,” I profess. Now that it’s official, I
have
to lure Zeus into my house. The top cat in the hat could seriously hook up the music for my fashion show.

As if reading my mind about plucking potential candidates for my house, Zeus offers, “Have you seen Dame Leeds’s portfolio?”

“No,” I say, wincing. Zeus seems tight with Dame Leeds, but Dame Leeds leads to Nole Canoli, and that fashion trail can only lead to Chandelier Spinelli.

“You know Dame?” Aphro asks, impressed. She rests her head on my shoulder, still out of breath from posing.

“For a minute,” Zeus says, fiddling with his hat.