Modelland (16 page)

“I—I’m sorry,” Dylan blurted out.

“Yeah, right.” Piper turned away.

Tookie couldn’t bear more fighting. “So you are really, um, a princess?” she asked, changing the subject.

Piper turned to her. A small smile formed on her pale face. “Not exactly. I just call myself that to annoy my dear mother. She’s an elected official but acts like a queen. I actually campaigned for her opponent during the election.”

“Really? Girl, you got you some guts!” Dylan applauded.

The pouch popped out into a windy, thunderous sky and swelled and dropped dramatically. The four girls looked out every side of the pouch to see if they could tell where they were. Thick fog covered the ground below. Voodoo-style drumbeats sounded from the ground. In the distance, they saw what they thought were the Modelland gates. A wide expanse of bright orange and red flames shot from the top of the mountain.

“Are the gates on fire?” Dylan asked shakily.

“No, no, no!” Shiraz clutched her head. “Cannot be happening!”

Dylan looked at her. “
What
can’t be happenin’?”

Shiraz trembled with fear. “This is the real reason we are chosen for the Modelland!” She began to sing in a sweet, haunting voice:

When Shiraz finished, she looked at them. “When I was little girl in Canne Del Abra, that song we sang,” Shiraz whispered. “You know sacrifice rumors, right? They true!”

Piper frowned. “
I
haven’t heard anything about sacrifice.”

“Really?” Dylan raised an eyebrow. “Those rumors run rampant all up and down the Bou-Big-Tique aisles. It goes somethin’ like, Modelland brings in four lesser girls to brutally experiment on ’em—and then
sacrifice
’em to some sort of ancient Gorgeous Goddess or somethin’.”

Shiraz nodded frantically. “Yes, yes! Exactly that!”

“So … you believe
we’re
this year’s fresh meat?” Piper asked.

“Yes!” Shiraz squeaked. “Four crazy-looking girl in sack. They will burn us in ceremony!”

A loud thud echoed through the pouch. Dylan had fainted. She was now flat on her back, a ghastly expression frozen on her face. Tookie scooted over to check on her. “Dylan? Dylan!”

Dylan batted her eyelids open and mumbled, “I need a cleanup on aisle one ninety-seven. Oil spill!”

“Dylan, you’re in the pouch,” Piper said.

“But what about my siblings?” Dylan asked. “I got four of each.”

Tookie’s heart pounded fast. She’d heard of the sacrifice
rumors too. Everyone in Metopia whispered about them, debating whether they were true. Intoxibellas were even asked in interviews if the torture and murders really happened. Every Intoxibella denied it, but maybe that was because they didn’t know—or worse, were in on it.

Reality started to set in. Tookie had known this was all too good to be true. Of course Modelland didn’t want her, a dirt- and snot-eyed freaky-looking Forgetta-Girl.

“Look!” Piper screamed, pointing at the Diabolical Divide.

Tookie shot up. Lightning flashed every few seconds in time with the beating of the drums. With each strike, Tookie saw the evidence of lives somehow lost: a filthy gray hooded sweatshirt caught on a dead tree limb; a patent-leather backpack, its pockets ripped open, abandoned near a small stream; half a girl’s white sneaker propped against a tree stump. The shoe looked as though something had taken a huge bite out of it. Tookie swore she saw blood smeared on the toe.

“Those items must be from the expired Pilgrims who caught the Plague,” Piper said quietly.

“Expired?” Dylan shook her head. “The princess of SansColor is also the princess of understatement! Those Pilgrims aren’t just expired, honey—they’re
dead
!”

“They no Pilgrims!” Shiraz cried desperately. “They killed through sacrifice!”

The Scout made an abrupt incline. Only the glowing eye at the very tip-top of Modelland was visible. The thumping of the drums grew stronger, vibrating through Tookie’s chest. The flames shot higher into the air, setting fire to a giant wall made of a mishmash of unidentifiable items.

Then the Gates of Modelland came fully into view. They were made of blue and gold metal and deeply engraved silver, and they had gears on both sides that seemed to be some kind of high-security locks. The Scout flew lower and lower. Tookie chewed feverishly on the inside of her lip. Her heart was pounding so fast she was sure it might soon rip from her chest. Could Shiraz be right? Were they flying to meet their doom?

The pouch’s walls begin to drip liquid, lightly at first, but then the wetness poured down in sheets.

“They’re gonna use this liquid to electrocute us!” Dylan cried.

Tookie felt a wet hand slip into hers. It was Dylan’s. Piper grabbed Tookie’s hand from the other side and Shiraz gripped Piper. Tookie squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for impact.

The pouch skidded on the ground with a loud, jarring thump. There was a ripping sound, and the pouch split open, spilling out Tookie and the girls. Tookie leaned down and grabbed the empty pouch in a panic, rummaging through it, trying to locate the Scout. But the fabric remained lifeless in Tookie’s arms; the Scout was nowhere to be found.

An immense umbrella appeared out of nowhere and plopped into the middle of the pouch. “Oh, thank God,” Piper said, grabbing it and holding it over her head, surely to block her sensitive skin from the sun’s rays.

Suddenly, the strange voodoo drumming stopped. The silence was deafening. The girls looked around. They were in a large clearing atop green grass. Tookie ran her hands over the green and in the dim light realized it was not grass but fine fabric.

“Now what we do?” Shiraz whispered.

Something shot toward them through the darkness. When
Tookie’s eyes adjusted, she saw a tall creature with a head shaped exactly like a human hand, with four fingers and a long thumb. The palm of the hand contained pale blue eyes, two holes for a nose, and two full lips. Below the strange hand-head was the body of a normal human.

“Hello, mesdemoiselles!
Je m’appelle
Guru Applaussez, ze head of ze couture department,” the creature said in a thick Très Jolie accent, smiling with its broad mouth full of perfectly straight white teeth. “I am beyond
excité
you have arrived early. Your lack of tardiness deserves a round of applause,
oui?
”

With a squeal of pleasure, the creature leaned all the way to the left and hit its hand-head to its left palm and then did the same on the right side with its right palm. Just looking at this bizarre ovation made Tookie dizzy.

“That thang gives new meanin’ to the phrase ‘talk to the hand,’ ” Dylan whispered. Tookie couldn’t help but giggle.

“Ah! You are ze seamstresses I ordered, no?” The hand looked excited. “Ze Intoxistakes theme this year is Insects of the Bush, and I need all ze extra helping hands I can get. Seeing as I only ’ave three.” It paused for effect, a coy smile on its face. “Now let’s get to work,
oui?
”

Yellow smoke began to swirl around the girls’ feet. Shiraz jumped back. “Sacrifice is starting! I too young and spry to die!”

The other girls yelped and grabbed each other’s arms. Tookie could barely breathe she was so afraid. But as she grasped the girls hard, she suddenly felt one small note of reassurance: she wasn’t going to die alone. The other three actually wanted to face death with her.

The smoke rose higher, fully encircling them. Tookie squeezed
her eyes shut.
At least I had an adventure at the very end
, she told herself. She could feel the hot flames on her cheeks. The smoke tickled her nostrils.

Suddenly, the smoke flew away, coming to a halt in a walllike clump a few feet from the girls. Slowly, the cloud-wall reassembled, forming a door of black smoke. The door flipped open. Behind it was a black chamber full of angry, swirling wind. Tookie’s hair blew backward. Piper gripped the umbrella tightly, but it turned inside-out anyway. Dylan and Shiraz covered their eyes.

A nude figure emerged through the doorway, stalking toward them with a rhythmic pace. With each step, the tornado wind whipped even faster. Then the figure raised its arms. Tookie felt a tugging sensation under her feet. The pouch whipped out from underneath them and streamed into the figure’s fingertips.

Dylan’s mouth trembled. She looked like she was about to faint. “What in the heck is goin’ on?” she murmured.

Smaller pieces of fabric shot from the figure’s fingers and into the air, hanging weightlessly over the girls. The strips of material tumbled and lashed around their heads, ripping and combining violently into undergarments of every color and fabric. A white lace girdle whipped past. A purple merry widow floated by, followed by a chartreuse camisole, marigold briefs, and blue bloomers. The unmentionables floated in front of the dark figure that had appeared at the door. Suddenly, a long, bejeweled, tentaclelike necklace appeared.

“Our Scout!” Tookie breathed.

The Scout chose a pair of very unsexy blue bloomers and put them on her bare body. All of the other intimates were sucked back into the Scout’s fingers.

And then,
thwap!
More garments shot out of the Scout’s fingers: a one-shouldered, bias-cut burnt-orange chemise, a maroon eelskin jacket with severe shoulder pads, a fire-engine-red felt porkpie hat, a pair of metal-studded heather-gray ankle boots. It was like they were in a zero-gravity department store.

The items spun around and around. The Scout’s jeweled appendages acted like hands and arms, moving the choices around into unconventional ensembles. When the jewels had settled on a preferred selection, they thrust the winning selection onto the Scout. The remaining choices were sucked up into the Scout’s fingers once more.

The Scout was left wearing a plunging white V-neck blouse with so many odd angles to it, Tookie couldn’t quite figure it out. A high-waisted, corseted indigo-blue fine-woven cotton skirt barely covered her butt. Boots with alternating strips of leather and canvas laced up just above her knees, chocolate-brown swirls decorating the material.

Then the bedazzled jeweled tentacles burned bright red. In a flash, they melted into one, forming a belt of golden yellow fabric that rested snugly on the Scout’s hips.

“It’s her Sentura,” Tookie whispered.

“Amazing,” Dylan managed to say.

The Scout lifted both hands to her face and peeled her veil slowly from the bottom up. The girls oohed and aahed.

For she had shimmering caramel-colored skin, the very skin that had made trillionaires of quite a few CEOs of skincare companies.

Full, soft-looking lips with the deep cupid’s bow that had inspired so many girls to wear Glow-Glow lip gloss.

Large emerald eyes with mile-long lashes that seemed to look into your soul, knowing exactly what you desired—needed—at any given time.

Tookie gasped. Could it be? She looked around at the others, and they were awestruck too.

It was the celebrated, renowned, mythical Intoxibella. Ci~L.

“Sorry, I was sweating buckets back there.” The Intoxibella sniffed her armpits. “Yuckity yuck! I totally forgot to put on my sweat stopper this morning. I’m a girl who can’t skip a day, if you know what I mean!”

“You—you’re …,” Dylan stammered.

“The most distinguished …,” Piper began, but was too stunned to finish.

“The Ci~L!” Shiraz summed up.

Tookie gaped, feeling completely unworthy of having a conversation with a creature so regal and divine. Ci~L, the last Triple7, a real 7Seven-7 with all seven Intoxibella powers, was the one who had taken them to the ends of the earth. The one who had taken
her
hand instead of Myrracle’s. And finally, the mystery was solved! WHERE THE HELL IS Ci~L? Why, she was right
here
!

“Yes, I’m Ci~L,” the Intoxibella said, a calm, reluctant smile fluttering across her lips. She stared at Dylan, Piper, and Shiraz in amazement. It seemed like something clicked in her mind, and her expression totally changed from serene to something much darker. “Hendal, Katherine, Woodlyn! I can’t believe it.” She ran up to Dylan and put her ear to Dylan’s mouth. Then she moved to Shiraz and placed her fingers on her wrist. Finally she touched Piper’s chest, where her heart was. “You all made it.”

The three girls looked at each other confusedly.
Huh?

Ci~L noticed Tookie and coolly extended her hand. Her welcome was far less enthusiastic.

“Excusez-moi!”
Guru Applaussez stood behind them. “I hate to break up this party, but
j’ai besoin de
these seamstresses. Ci~L, thank you for transporting them so swiftly. I will take them now.”

Ci~L shielded the girls protectively. “With all due respect for the world of handmade couture, as well as for you, Guru Applaussez, these young ladies are not dressmakers, they are tastemakers—of tomorrow. Bellas of Modelland.”

The girls exchanged a shocked glance.
Bellas?
Everyone knew that was the Modelland term for
students
. So they
weren’t
sacrifices?

“Comment?”
Guru Applaussez recoiled from the girls as if they had an airborne illness. “Look, sweetie dear, I am
fatigué
and am going to go nurse my hand-ache. So please stop this
jovialité
and have my new seamstresses report to my
couturier.
” And with a beauty queen wave of its hand-head, the Guru turned and left.

“Don’t mind Applaussez, girls,” Ci~L murmured. “The Guru’s a bit frustrated to have been born with three hands while the rest of the fam has four.”

Tookie’s gaze was still fixed on Ci~L. She just couldn’t believe this was happening. Beyond being awed by Ci~L’s worldwide fame, Tookie actually
respected
her the most of all the Intoxibellas. She actually had substance behind her heavily made-up face and accessory-adorned body. Ci~L was a legendary spoken-word-poetry-slam champion, spouting many controversial poems that even some of the snobbiest literary critics praised. She gave keynote addresses at college graduations, speaking about her many interpretations of human beings’ physicality. Ci~L was an icon, an Intoxibella unafraid to speak her mind.