Modelland (22 page)

Suddenly, Shiraz’s eyes bulged. “Tookie!” Shiraz wailed, pointing shakily at her. “What
happening
?”

Tookie turned to see what Shiraz was pointing to. An older, unrecognizable person was staring at Tookie. It had a boil growing on its nose, letting out a smoke that smelled of rotten eggs and animal droppings. Much of its hair had fallen out in clumps, and many of the hanging strands had fused together into what
looked like chunks of petrified wood. Its eyes were bruised, swollen nearly shut, and its ears were swollen into what looked like bulbs of cauliflower.

“Oh my God!” Tookie and the creature whispered. That was when she realized.

The gruesome creature … was
her
.

Everyone in the room screamed, their faces melting and warping just like Tookie’s was.

Piper’s skin was so raw it was transparent. Her blood was visible, pumping wildly through her face. She resembled a skeleton with muscles and veins, with a thin layer of clear plastic keeping it all together.

Dylan’s ponytails had completely fallen out and she was cradling them in her arms. Her nose had become detached from her face and was sitting on top of the bed of hair. Shiraz’s grapefruit-sized eyes bulged and bulged like they were about to pop out of her head. The spot where the ruby had been on Kamalini’s SMIZE
was now a gaping hole four inches wide, exposing her brain. Angelîka’s ZipZap head injury had split open wide from the top of her head to the base of her neck. When she screamed, her exposed vocal cords, which lay in a spaghetti-like tangle at her throat, vibrated.

“My
heads
hurt so much!” both sides of Angelîka cried. Even Zarpessa and Chaste looked like mutants, their noses falling off and their lips turning into slugs.

Three monster girls instinctively ran toward the white door marked
HOME
. As soon as they went through, huge sighs ensued. “I’m beautiful again!” one girl said through the door. “I’m not melting anymore!” another cried.

“Last chance! Anyone
else
want to go through the Home door?” Gunnero teased. “It’s dreadful to be hideously fugly, isn’t it?”

Tookie’s muscles twitched. She couldn’t take this.
Is this what Modelland is about? Bringing lovely—well
, mostly
lovely—girls up here and turning them into ogres?
Who would be left to become an Intoxibella?

Suddenly, she sat up straighter.
Wait a minute
.

She turned to Shiraz, who sat to her left. “It’s a trick.”

Shiraz’s lips, which were now also the size of grapefruits, parted. “What you mean?”

“It’s a
trick
,” Tookie repeated. “We’re going to be okay, I think. Stay in your seat. Tell Dylan and Piper too.”

Shiraz looked uncertain but turned and gave Dylan and Piper Tookie’s message. For a moment Tookie feared she might have been steering them wrong. But she stayed put.
It’s a trick, it’s a trick, it’s a trick
.

Ten more harried girls ran through the door marked
HOME
. It
slammed shut once more and the room went dark. More screams filled the air.

“Oh dear, ladies,” Gunnero’s voice purred in the blackness. “I am very disappointed. A mere baker’s dozen skinless chickens chickened out. I thought I could count on more of you No-Sees leaving by now.
C’est la vie
. Let this be a lesson to you, ladies. Here in Modelland, we have a golden rule about passed-around beautification apparatuses.”

“What is it?” Kamalini asked.

Gunnero sighed deeply. “The first thing you must know about cosmetics, feebleminded females, is to forget everything Mommy and Daddy ever told you about sharing. Unless, of course, you want your face to fall off just like it has now—shared utensils give you creepy conjunctivitis, gory gangrene, bubonic boils, atrocious abscesses, styes, and staphylococcus! So from this moment on, you have my personal permission to be stingy, selfish wenches when it comes to your
maquillage
. Got it, No-Sees?”

Everyone said yes, and bright searchlights immediately shone in their faces, making everyone cringe. Piper yelped and shielded her face with her hands.

Tookie peeked at her reflection. The grotesque effects of the contaminated makeup had miraculously vanished.

“Moving on to phase three!” Gunnero crowed.
“Embellishments!”

More Mannecants appeared, this time carts full of jewelry that sparkled like raindrops on clean windows—chunky rose gold necklaces, beaming bangles and bracelets, pairs of enormous hoop earrings that were connected to each other via a thin rope of platinum, and rings, rings, rings galore. The Mannecants draped layer upon layer of brilliant adornments onto the girls.

Shiraz leaned over in her chair. “You so smart, Tookie! You make us stay! And we pass first round!”

Her other friends grinned gratefully at her as well. “You guys would’ve figured it out on your own,” Tookie said bashfully, ducking her head.

Then she looked in her mirror, marveling at the accessories chosen for her. Each bore a name that looked vaguely familiar.

“Receptacles!” Gunnero screamed.

Another group of Mannecants rolled in a much larger cart full of every kind of purse imaginable. Studded clutches, hobo-chic bags, drawstring styles, quilted ones with sparkling chain straps, antique leather satchels, rare over-the-shoulder treasures. The Mannecants went down the row of girls like a factory assembly line, placing the purses across the girls’ bodies, shoving them into their hands and onto their shoulders. Tookie ended up with a snazzy black nylon backpack; a short-handled, boxy purse made of stiff but fine leather; and … a Dream Bag! The very same yellow tote Zarpessa had, the one all the girls at B3 envied!

“I got a Helly!” Chaste trilled, holding up a monogrammed tote.

“I got a Xizo!” Zarpessa cried happily, holding up a hobo bag that bore a logo of interlocking Xs.

The Mannecants scuttled out of the room as fast as they had come in. Almost instantly, the jewelry and bags began to revolt. Chaste’s tote handles bound her wrists and squeezed. Dylan’s earrings turned into two-pound weights, dragging down her earlobes. She screamed in pain. The necklace Tookie was wearing started to get warm, then scalding hot, and then it wrapped several times around her neck and squeezed and squeezed. Tookie clutched at her neck, barely able to breathe.

A door appeared across the room and a lantern swayed back and forth.
HOME
. Then it swung open, giving way to lush tropical scenery, golden sunlight, and the sound of surf hitting the sand.

Eleven girls made a mad dash for the exit.
“Ahh,”
they all said in chorus as soon as they crossed the threshold. The Home door closed with a boom.

With that, the necklace unwound from Tookie’s neck. All the other accessories fell limply in the girls’ laps, inanimate again.

Tookie looked around. Shiraz, Piper, and Dylan were still here, huddled under their maquillage tables.
Relief
.

Just then, Gunnero Narzz entered from a dark space in the room, swinging in his hand the lantern that had been the light source beckoning the now-departed girls to the Home door. He glared at Tookie and her crew. “Figures you four survived.”

Then he turned, addressing the winnowed-down group of girls that remained. “Fraudulent. Phony. Forgery. Fake. Close your eyes and think about the time when an item you adored, cherished, took such pride in owning, was taken from you … without your permission. Swiped! Swindled! Snatched! Stolen! Your world crumbles around you! Betrayed! Bitten! Backstabbed! Bereaved! Being the victim of theft doesn’t feel good, does it, No-Sees?”

The girls shook their heads confusedly.

“That’s how my cronies feel whenever you purchase or accept a gift of a counterfeit couturier creation,” Gunnero explained. “You may think you are sporting the latest fashions and fooling your pitifully clueless circle of friends, but you are merely concocting a deceitful world of pseudo luxury and corrupt make-believe, while the hardworking artisans who dedicate their lives to producing authentic wares are robbed blindly. And who produces these fake
wares? Poor starving children who roam homeless in public squalor and live poverty-stricken in rodent-infested shanties.”

Gunnero stopped right in front of Tookie and whipped the Dream Bag off her shoulder. Tookie hadn’t even realized it was still there. “How. Dare. You.”

He turned to the group, eyeing the fake bags that rested on their laps and the counterfeit jewels that sparkled at their throats. “How dare you
all
! So, the lesson for phase three is what?”

“For Gunnero designer friends, buying of the fake no good!” Shiraz offered.

Gunnero looked pleased. “At least one of you is listening. Even if it is a knee-high Lilliputian.”

“Lilli—wha?” Shiraz blinked innocently.

“Oh, excuse me for being prêt-a-politically-incorrect,” Gunnero simpered. “I believe the acceptable phrase is
Five P:
Puny Pocket-sized Petite Particle of a Person.”

Shiraz looked crushed. Tookie wanted to defend her. But she’d never defended anyone before—she’d never had an opportunity to. And anyway, now wasn’t the time.

“On to phase four!” Gunnero trilled. “This next part is—heh
—piercingly
funny.”

His heel attacked the floor again. A panel in the wall tilted backward and fell to the floor with a loud bang. Gunnero ushered the girls forward into a new space. Tookie did a rough count. Only seventy or so of the recruits were left.

As Gunnero walked into the next area, he glanced at the girls over his shoulder. “Can any of you dimwits guess what the final phase is?” The Bellas just stared at him blankly, and he sighed. “Oh, I swear. The No-Sees are getting thicker and thicker each
year. And I’m not talking about your hips.” Then, eyeing Dylan, he said, “Well, maybe I am.”

Dylan bit her lip and balled her fists.

“The final phase is the actual
defilé
, the
sfilata di moda
,” Gunnero trilled. He eyed Kamalini. “The
tamasha
. The
fashion show
. And ladies, you’ll love this. It will allow me to
drill
into you all you need here at Modelland.”

One by one, ten exits marked
HOME
lit up around the perimeter of the space. The ceiling opened, revealing a gigantic, loud, mechanical contraption. Tookie realized it was a giant sewing machine with an enormous needle that was as long as her dining room table in Peppertown. Slowly, the machine descended upon the girls, its needle slamming up and down.

“Have we all had our ears pierced, ladies?” Gunnero asked.

Most of the girls nodded shakily.

“Well, then this should be a piece of cake!” Gunnero shrieked. And then he was gone.

“This look like trouble,” Shiraz whispered.

Some girls scuttled away. Some dropped to the floor and covered their ears. But Tookie had learned by now that running was futile, so she remained completely still. Her three friends copied her. Together, they watched as the needle drew closer and closer.…

Chaste was also standing still. Slowly, the needle bore down on her head, its tip piercing her skull and continuing all the way through her body to the ground. When the needle retracted, Chaste was … 
gone
.

The machine quickly sought out the next girl, then the next, puncturing them into the unknown. Tookie recognized one of them as Desperada, the sobbing girl she had seen in LaDorno
Square at T-DOD. The needle punctured Desperada’s head and she howled, but Tookie couldn’t tell if it was from physical or emotional pain.

The Home doors glowed even brighter than before. Angelîka from Icylann spun and dodged the needle, then scurried to the door. And with that, she was gone. A few more girls avoided the needle’s wrath and followed her through one of the Home doors.

Within seconds, the needle loomed just inches away from Tookie. Her heart thudded as the tip jabbed close to her skin. Then closer, closer … until the tip was aimed straight at her head.

She waited for a sharp pain. The moment the tip of the needle hit her skull, she suddenly felt like a million tiny appendages were tickling her skin. Her body tilted upside down and she felt her shirt, cargo pants, and underwear slip off. More fingers gently pulled at her limbs and clothed her body. The space she was in was incredibly dark, and Tookie rubbed her hands over the mystery fabrics that now touched her skin. They had dips and folds and tucks and felt extremely luxe.

The enclosure turned her upright and deposited her into a soundless room. Floating in the air, bisque-colored orbs glowed like full moons. Slowly, faces appeared in the orbs. Tookie recognized one of the faces as Kamalini’s, her Headbangor still strapped firmly to her head. Zarpessa’s face appeared in another orb, then Chaste’s. By the startled way the girls were looking at her, Tookie realized that she must be inside an orb too.

Music thumped in the distance. As Tookie floated behind the other girls through an entryway, it grew louder and louder, making her insides vibrate. It was a familiar sort of music. Kind of like the type of music one would hear at …

A fashion show
, Tookie thought.

More orbs bearing girls’ faces floated behind her. Tookie spotted Shiraz, then Dylan, then a dirty-blond curly-haired girl she hadn’t seen until now, and then Piper. “You made it!” Tookie cried. But her friends didn’t appear to hear her.
These orbs must be soundproof
.

A door appeared ahead. It pulsed to the beat of the music as if the fashion show behind the door wanted to burst through it.
I’m going to be in a fashion show? Seriously?
She feared falling on her face. She feared Gunnero laughing at her. But more than anything, she was almost … excited. Forgetta-Girls weren’t in fashion shows. Only Rememba-Girls were.

Tookie’s orb approached the door, which began to glow a bright white. One by one, letters appeared.