Modelland (23 page)

What?
Tookie tried to pedal her orb backward, but it didn’t work. Up ahead, girls’ heads floated through the Home door: first Zarpessa, then Chaste.
Good! They’re gone! Yes!

But next to approach the Home door was Shiraz. “No!” Tookie cried. But her protests were futile: through the door Shiraz’s floating head went. Then Dylan’s head. Then Piper’s, then Kamalini’s. “No!” Tookie screamed. “Please! Don’t leave me here alone!”

But to her horror, her own bubble was floating toward the Home door too. Tookie summoned all her might to turn herself around, but the bubble had a mind of its own.

She closed her eyes and tried to hold on to all the good things that had happened to her on her journey here. She recalled Dylan’s sassy laugh, Shiraz’s spunky broken English, Piper’s intelligence and dry wit, and ZhenZhen’s contagious giggle and nurturing kindness.

And finally, as she passed though the Home door, Tooke bid a silent goodbye to Modelland.

Tookie’s eyes were shut tight. A stiff breeze made her face tingle. It smelled familiar, sort of like … tangerines?
No
. Blood oranges.

Tookie opened her eyes. She was wearing exactly what all the girls in the O plaza had had on, except it was two-tone green.

Her head felt foggy.
I don’t remember how I got into these clothes. Where are Piper and Shiraz and Dylan? Am I sleepwalking? Was Thigh-High Boot Camp just a nightmare? Or … Oh no …

Am I still IN Boot Camp?

Way off in the distance, the M building stood proud and tall. In front of her was a mishmash of cubelike houses, connected by slivers of jade and turquoise opaque stones. Huge faces carved
into hedges decorated the grounds. Vines and flowers made up the faces’ eyes and hair. One of the flower-eyes opened and stared straight at her.

“Admiring the D, are you?” a voice asked.

Tookie spun around. ZhenZhen scooped her into a huge bear hug. Then, over ZhenZhen’s shoulder, Tookie saw Shiraz, Dylan, and Piper walking toward her in slow motion, all wearing the same outfit she was.
They’re walking in slo-mo. It
is
a dream. Wake up, Tookie
.

More girls appeared behind them. Kamalini … Desperada … and Chaste and Zarpessa.
Yuck. No, it’s definitely a nightmare
.

“You made it, girl!” Dylan cried, running toward Tookie. Shiraz and Piper barreled toward her too, and the girls crashed together into a sloppy, love-filled reunion hug.

Then Tookie looked at ZhenZhen. “Is Thigh-High Boot Camp really over?” Tookie asked.

ZhenZhen nodded, and the girls erupted into hugs and applause.

“But there was no fashion show,” Piper stated, interrupting their celebration. “Guru Gunnero stated, rather demonically, that the whole THBC process would culminate in one big fashion extravaganza.”

“You mean you didn’t do the fashion show ending?” ZhenZhen frowned. She looked worried. “The BellaDonna is going to be so upset. Gunnero has been excluding the fashion show part of Boot Camp for the past two years. Word is he doesn’t want any fashion shows happening before the new Bellas get their walking lessons from him. It’s like he wants to take full credit for any walks.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m really sorry you had to experience such hell
without getting a payoff of heaven. But you made it. I hope your time here is worth the agony you just experienced.”

“Oh, it was nothing. My hairdresser’s personal trainer’s manicurist’s nephew has a friend who went through it before, so I already knew everything that was going to happen,” Zarpessa said smugly.

Dylan rolled her eyes.

“So how many made it?” Kamalini asked.

“Fifty-four,” ZhenZhen said.

Shiraz cocked her head. “Those who no make it? Where they go?”

“They’re gone.
Forever
. Never to return.” Tookie and her friends looked at each other with wide eyes. If they’d buckled under the tests, they would’ve been gone too.

Then ZhenZhen turned and faced the bizarre building. “So, guys, this is the D. Come, I’ll get you settled.”

Dylan planted her feet. “Honey chile, I just been invaded by bacteria, sliced and diced by earrings, stabbed by a monster needle, and had my head imprisoned inside a bubble. I’m not goin’ in there until I know what that whacked-out place is.”

ZhenZhen stepped up onto the porch. “It’s where you’re going to be living while you’re here.”

She motioned for the surviving six members of her original dozen to follow her into the D. Sun streamed through high windows into a vast living room with couches, tables, and pillows. It was decorated in a blend of styles—Gothic, midcentury modern, art deco with a hint of … laboratory, in some strange way. The place smelled, as most places in Modelland seemed to, of blood oranges.

“Modelland is now your home, home, home!” ZhenZhen
trilled, beaming with pride. “This is the UnCommon Room, where you’ll all hang out!”

“I get it!” Tookie announced, “The
D
stands for Dorms!”

“Exactly!” ZhenZhen said. Six stoic-looking youngish Mannecants entered the room and stood next to ZhenZhen, holding stacks of what looked like stiff scarves draped over one arm.

“Senturas!” Zarpessa yelped. “I’d know that shade of yellow anywhere!”

“Same color as the dress you wore here,” added Chaste. “What a coincidence.”

“Zarpessa’s right—these are Senturas,” ZhenZhen said. “The Senturas are very, very special. The more you wear them, the stronger your
pow-pow-powers
become.” ZhenZhen accented the
pows
with a pointed finger, like she was shooting a pistol.

The Mannecants tossed the stacks of Senturas into the air. Miraculously, the strips of fabric circled above the girls in a brilliant air show. Some flew in formation; others did solo kamikazes into the crowd. The girls oohed and aahed at the performance, which ended with each Sentura nose-diving into the group, finding its recipient, and wrapping itself two times around the girl’s waist.
Whap!
One wrapped around Zarpessa.
Zing!
One circled Shiraz. And finally, a Sentura even cinched Tookie’s waist. She stared at it, barely believing her eyes.
Is this really … mine?

“Listen, up girls. Keep tabs on these magic golden cummerbunds,” ZhenZhen said. “You might have innate powers, but this is the only thing that can make the Bella magic happen.” She shook her head. “You all should see some of my photo shoots when I don’t have this darn thing on! Pitiful.”

The girls gingerly touched their Senturas. Tookie held the
ends of hers like they were the wings of a wounded bird. Zarpessa and Chaste scooted to a mirror at the far side of the space to admire themselves. Tookie could see them yanking their Senturas tightly and trying to find the most flattering spots on their hips for the sashes to rest.

ZhenZhen clapped. “Okay, girls. Go up to the second level and look for your names.”

The girls climbed the long suspended staircase that only had steps. No risers, no banister. And it floated in midair. Down a long, wide hall with immense fabric flowers and plants growing out of the artwork were a series of bedroom doors. Slowly, the names of the girls who would occupy each room appeared on the door graffiti-style, as though an invisible hand was doing the writing. Everyone ran to look for their names.

“Piper, you’re here!” Tookie called, pointing to a door to her right and then waiting at the door for it to write the next name. “Dylan, you’re with her!”

“Tookie, you here!” Shiraz beckoned Tookie from down the hall. “And … 
K-A-M-A-L—
”

“Kamalini! That is me!” Kamalini scooted to the entrance of the room.

“Next one is …” Shiraz peered closely at the door. Her lips spread into a smile. “Shiraz Shiraz!”

Tookie and Shiraz ran through the purple door and gasped. The room was a large, bright square lit by floor-to-ceiling windows. But there was nothing in the room save for four square burlap bags on the floor.

Kamalini clutched her Headbangor. “We have to sleep on the floor? I guess we can make do.”

Shiraz walked toward a window, but suddenly there was a loud clunk and she stopped short, as though she’d knocked into something. She lost her footing and fell forward. Instead of crashing to the floor, she stopped as something invisible broke her fall.

“Huh?” Tookie whispered. She scuttled over to Shiraz to see what was there. It seemed like a cushion of air was now suspending Shiraz three feet above the floor.

Shiraz grinned. “Is soft! Feels like a—

“Bed,” Tookie finished. The outline of a bed materialized before their eyes. A cushy white comforter and four fluffy pillows rested atop the mattress.

“Is fancy! Way better than Canne Del Abra cot!” Shiraz joyfully exclaimed, looking at the bed forming around her.

Then the sound of a pencil scratching against paper filled the room. Black lines traversed the white comforter, slowly forming a picture. Shiraz jumped off the bed to give it a closer look. In no time, the lines formed a large eye, then a nose, then another eye and a pair of full lips, and finally an abstract scribble made luxurious black hair flow from the head. When miniature dots began to cover the face, Shiraz gasped. “Is me!”

Tookie and Kamalini looked at each other excitedly. “Where’s my bed?” they said at the exact same time.

“Jinx!” Kamalini teased, bumping Tookie’s hip. Tookie smiled so hard, her cheeks hurt. No one had ever jinxed her before.

Tookie walked to the left of Shiraz’s bed, Kamalini strode right. At almost the same time, their knees bumped into an invisible bedpost. They both allowed themselves to fall forward.

“Delicious!” Kamalini exclaimed.

“Like falling onto a cloud of whipped cream,” Tookie said.

Sure enough, outlines of two beds quickly formed. Moments later, the pencil-scratching noise rang out. A drawing of Tookie appeared on the white comforter. The likeness was a bit goofier than she looked in real life, her mouth exaggeratedly big, her ears sticking out twenty degrees more than they truly did, but the comforter did draw one of Tookie’s eyes darker than the other. For a brief moment, Tookie took in the eyes of the girls in the room and longed for a set of matching irises.

Kamalini’s comforter now depicted a caricature of her too. But Kamalini seemed almost saddened by the image, touching her Headbangor and sinking to the mattress.

“Don’t you like it?” Tookie asked, peering at her.

“Well, I …” Kamalini shook her head. “I love it. Really. It is just, I am nervous about being here. I didn’t really try as hard as all the girls from my country did. I was showering and this thing”—she pointed to her SMIZE—“just popped out. So here I am.”

“You don’t think you deserve to be here?” Tookie could hardly believe Kamalini was saying such a thing—with her big, soulful eyes and her flawless brown skin, she was one of the most beautiful girls here.

Kamalini shrugged. “My parents were so happy, though. But they are worried about my addiction to …”

“The drugs?” Shiraz jumped in.

“No, not drugs,” Kamalini said.

“The whiskey?” Shiraz guessed again. “I no judge you, I just want to help!”

“No … not alcohol either. Worse. This.” She held up her Headbangor. “They didn’t want me to bring it. I smuggled it in.”

Shiraz squinted. “You addicted to the music?”

Kamalini nodded. “My father made it for me—he is dean of my country’s most prestigious university and an inventor. My mother is a Chakrawood actress
and
director—a rarity. I started using it after something … happened.” She lowered her eyes. “It eases the pain. Helps me forget. It’s hard for me to be without it. I get withdrawal symptoms.” She sighed. “My father even made this one waterproof so I can wear it while swimming and in the shower. I had it on when that SMIZE contraption came out of the showerhead. The girls at school say that I think I’m the most beautiful girl in Chakra and that my parents purchased the SMIZE on the black market, but it’s the farthest thing from the truth.”

“Can I listen?” Tookie asked hesitantly, almost certain Kamalini would say no.

Kamalini looked into Tookie’s eyes and then nodded and placed the Headbangor on Tookie’s head. Tookie felt a rush as the music hit her brainwaves. The most crystal-clear jangling tune, with sitars, a high-pitched singer, a tabla drum, and a shehnai flute, filled her ears. She stood, paced around the room, and listened to the words.

“The song is about a forbidden love, right?” she asked.

Kamalini’s eyes lit up. “Yes! It is my mom singing. Another rarity. She acts, she directs her own films,
and
she sings her own songs. Most of our actresses lip-sync. My mom’s latest song is a hit in Chakra and will be the music for the big dance number in her next movie. But wait a second … you know my language?”

“Every language, she knows!” Shiraz called matter-of-factly from across the room as she traced the lines of her face on her comforter. “Magical, Tookie is.”

Yeah, right
, Tookie thought.

“Ha, did someone say magical?” a voice rang through the room. “That sounds like my cue!”

Zarpessa stood in the doorway, a disingenuous smile on her face. “Well! A room for four! I kind of figured we’d each have our own rooms, but I guess I can live with this.”

No
, Tookie thought.
Please don’t make her be our roommate
. But when Tookie looked at the purple door again, Zarpessa’s name had appeared.

No one spoke as she pranced across the room and plopped down on Tookie’s bed. “Oh goodness,” she said, running her hands over the outline of Tookie’s face on the comforter. “This reminds me of my face after the THBC makeup attack!
Aauwwwgg …
,” she growled, monsterlike, and then slapped the drawing of Tookie’s cheek. “Guru Gunnero, you in there?” Suddenly, the Tookie drawing vanished and a new face formed. Zarpessa’s.

“Now,
this
is more like it!” Zarpessa gazed at her caricature, which accentuated her dramatic eyebrows, full lips, and long, bone-straight hair. She grabbed the fabric of the comforter and ran it between two fingers. “Mmm! Twenty-five-hundred thread count. My mother’s brother’s son’s cousin’s mentor is the manufacturer of these linens. You all are going to sleep like princesses in these. I’ve got them on my bed at home.
Don’t
I, Too-Too?”