Modelland (4 page)

The
WELCOME TO PEPPERTOWN
signs were on the corner of every block of the quadrant—the Quadrant Council had thought the signs would be cheerful beacons for tourists, not that tourists ever visited. Accessories weren’t the only thing associated with
Peppertown, though. The thing most people associated with Peppertown was the …

Whoosh
.

As soon as Tookie stepped out of B3’s double doors, her eyes squinted almost closed from the searing sun. The heat wafted at her like someone had just switched on the world’s largest, strongest turbine-powered heater. Students covered their faces as though they’d stepped into a dust storm. Sunglasses immediately rose to eyes, and hats clapped atop heads. When her eyes had adjusted, Tookie saw Abigail Goode yelling and marching by, wielding at the heavens a picket sign that read
DOWN WITH RAZORS!
And as usual, Tookie’s hair exploded into expando-mode, each individual follicle swelling and swelling until … 
pop
, her multiple-personality hair was about six times its original size. Groaning, Tookie reached into her bag, groping for a bottle of CheveuxMal gel, the only gel that kind of worked on her hair.

The sun’s wrath determined Peppertown’s landscape as well. The leaves on the trees were crisp and brown. No birds nestled in nooks or branches, no butterflies fluttered by, not even the tiniest insect scuttled past on the sidewalk. And you didn’t dare touch the sidewalk in Peppertown—it would burn your fingerprints off. Only a few people trudged dazedly down the broiling streets that day. A fair-skinned, eggplant-shaped woman stepped out of a toe-ring factory. Before she could clap a sun hat on her head, her skin had turned an angry red. A man in a bowler hat weakly—and uselessly—fanned his face with a copy of the
Peppertown Press
, wet ink staining his sweaty palms. The headline on the front page said
Baroness Still on the Run
. It was a story that had ravaged Metopia for several years now: apparently, a famous, wealthy baroness had run a Yonzi scheme of sorts, investing people’s money unwisely
and bankrupting them all. Instead of making good on her payments, she had gathered her family and fled.

Dominique and Monique, two girls with large Très Jolie braids coiled around their heads, bent over a fire hydrant, watching water spray from the spout. “
Two
SMIZEs have been found already,” Dominique squealed. “Only two! Which leaves
five
still out there somewhere. If a SMIZE comes out now, we’ll cut it in half and we can both wear it to T-DOD!”

Monique squealed happily. “Our chances will improve by forty-five-point-five percent! Not bad!”

“Look!” A girl at the bottom of the B3 steps pointed at the sky. Everyone looked up. Some of the fog at the very top of the mountain had parted, revealing the top tips of what they all knew was a bright eye shining in the sky. “Ooh!” everyone cried.

The grand mountain poked between Peppertown’s wilted trees. Even though Tookie couldn’t see them from here, she knew that camera crews were camped out at the mountain’s base, anxiously waiting for that golden fog to vanish and Scouts to start shuttling girls up to the peak.

“Is this it?” Dominique shrieked. “Is it happening?”

“Not yet,” Zarpessa, who was standing at the curb, said knowingly. “My leg waxer’s father’s sister told me this fog peek-a-boo is just to get us all excited so we’ll buy more souvenirs on T-DOD.”

Then, as if following Zarpessa’s command, the hole in the fog closed, obscuring the mysterious mountain once more. The pandemonium quickly turned to reverent silence. Tookie’s heart slowed its pace.

“Hey, Zar, need a ride home?” Lorelei, one of Zarpessa’s friends, asked. “I’d love to see the gorgeous mansion you live in.”

“Uh, thanks, but no thanks.” Zarpessa twirled her hair. “See,
my therapist’s yoga teacher’s meditation guru’s son-in-law told me that my walk to and from school is, well … it’s my time to be by myself. Especially in prep for the big day. Maybe another time.” And then she turned and marched off down a sweltering side street.

Tookie sighed and turned too. She had to walk home as well—but not because some meditation guru told her it was her
alone
time. As she trudged along the charbroiled sidewalk, she kept a running count of the cracks and the overlapping messages paint-stamped onto the concrete at street corners. Faded stamps read WHERE IS Ci~L? Newer ones painted on top of that said WHERE THE HELL IS Ci~L?

The messages puzzled Tookie. They referred to Ci~L—whose name was pronounced “see-el”—the most magnificent 7Seven ever to grace the earth, a Triple7, a majestic woman with caramel-colored skin and the most intoxicating eyes. For a long time, Ci~L’s visage was everywhere, and monopolized every fashion campaign and runway in every major style capital of the world … until only a few months ago, when her images had abruptly disappeared from billboards, magazine ads, and the sides of buses worldwide. A special news bulletin had announced that Ci~L was no longer accepting work and wouldn’t be the face of her own Ci~L by Jurk perfume, the bestselling fragrance in the world. But there was no explanation.

Tookie walked on past the long lines of accessory factories. Workers rushed in and out, their heads down, their faces permanently creased into frowns. Several children stood on the sidewalk, their eyes hollow, their hair cut short, their bodies swimming in workers’ uniforms. These were the Factory Dependents, children
sometimes even younger than Tookie whose parents could no longer, or chose not to, care for them. Greedy industry overlords took them in, housed them in slums, and paid them nothing—servants for life. Whenever Tookie saw them, she felt a rush of pity and dread.

Then she approached a sunglasses factory whose façade was made of long sheets of glass. Her image swam into the reflection, and she winced. She still had that fore—no, five; no, six—head. The slightly too-small weak chin, the multiple-personality-disorder hair, and the woolly-caterpillar eyebrows. Her eyes still spread wide like an antelope’s, one the color of dirt, the other of snot.
Yep. Same old Tookie, different day
.

A few blocks later, Tookie turned down an alley between two factories and waited in front of an old oak tree. No matter how hot it was, or how tired and dejected she felt, Tookie walked down this narrow corridor and stopped at this tree every single day. It was a special place. The place her friend, Lizzie, called home.

It wasn’t a home in the normal sense. The day Tookie met Lizzie, the nervous red-haired girl had been fleeing an invisible assailant and had dragged Tookie up this very tree with her. Nestled in the top branches was a tree cottage of sorts, with piles and piles of clothes inside. Nurses’ uniforms and firemen’s boots and mechanics’ jumpsuits. Bags of scones and jugs of water sat in the corner. A twin mattress—who knew how Lizzie had dragged it up there?—sat in the middle, shaded by heavy branches. This was where Lizzie lived. Alone.

Now, as Tookie approached the tree, she thought she saw a branch rustle. She hadn’t seen Lizzie in almost six weeks, which was a little strange. Sure, Lizzie kept an erratic schedule, not going
to school, disappearing at night, but six weeks was an awfully long absence. Tookie was worried about her.

Then Tookie spotted a shock of red hair. A figure peered down from a high branch.

“Lizzie!” Tookie cried out. Her heart lifted.

The girl darted down the makeshift ladder that hung from the tree cottage, grabbed Tookie’s hand, and pulled her upward.

When they reached the top, the girls extended their palms out, pointed to the sky with both hands, sniffed each armpit, and then curtsied. This was their silent expression of their secret greeting,
What’s up, Hot Queen?

“Is anyone with you?” Lizzie whispered, her left hand twitching.

Tookie snorted. “Is anyone ever? You know you’re always safe with Forgetta-Girl.”

“I hate it when you say that. Stop it!”

Tookie shrugged. “Just stating the truth.”

Lizzie sighed. “Well, I remember you, as clear as this day is hot, so shut up.” Then she peeked down at the ground. There was an unhinged, terrified look in her eyes.

“We’re not being followed, Lizzie,” Tookie insisted. “I swear. There’s no one with me or near me.”

Lizzie exhaled a long-held breath and flung her arms around Tookie, squeezing hard. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“Me too,” Tookie said, feeling both grateful Lizzie was back and frustrated that she’d been gone in the first place. She pulled away and stared at her friend. Lizzie’s skin was oddly smooth, nothing like its normal acne-prone, pockmarked, sunburned state, and she wore a blue hospital gown tied at the back and a pair of doctor’s scrub pants that bagged at the ankles. shivera
county hospital was stitched on the gown. This always happened when Lizzie returned after a long period away.

“So tell me everything!” Lizzie flopped down on her mattress. “What have I missed?”

Tookie shyly reached into the pocket of her shorts—which were now quite sweaty from the humid walk—and pulled out the button.
T O OKE
. “I found this today.”

Lizzie stared at it carefully. “Is it … one of
his
?”

Tookie nodded. She’d told Lizzie about Theophilus countless times before, describing him in great detail, down to his
VOTE FOR LOVE
pin. “And he spoke to me too.” She filled Lizzie in, except for the part about how Zarpessa had swooped in and ruined everything.

Lizzie ran her fingers over the dented metal. “Look at how the letters have worn off to spell your name! It’s a sign!”

Tookie loved that Lizzie got her so quickly. No one else did. “Yes, but then
she
appeared.”

“Zarpessa?” Lizzie guessed.

“Yup.” Tookie groaned. “That girl has
everything
—gorgeousness, money, Theophilus. Every time Zarpessa touches my Theophilus, it digs at my heart.”

A conflicted look crossed Lizzie’s face, and then she smiled. “Actually, your heart’s not the only thing Zarpessa’s digging.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Tookie prodded.

Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”

She grabbed Tookie’s hand and the girls climbed down the ladder. Lizzie pulled Tookie along a series of streets until they arrived at Juan Jorge’s, the only fancy restaurant in Peppertown, which catered to the quadrant’s politicians.

“What are we doing here?” Tookie whispered.

“Shhh,”
Lizzie whispered. She led Tookie to a Dumpster at the back of the restaurant. Its lid gaped open, the lock broken.

Tookie looked at Lizzie. “Lizzie, are you hungry? Do you need food?” Lizzie usually Dumpster-dove even though Tookie tried to provide her with as much food as she could.

But Lizzie shook her head. “Look.”

A group of shabby people stood around the Dumpster. Some of them wore masks: the tallest man wore a gas mask, a shorter woman wore a tribal mask, and a what looked like a girl Tookie’s age had on a tattered comedy-tragedy mask. The girl carried a familiar yellow Dream Bag in the crook of her elbow. Tookie frowned.

The woman in the tribal mask pushed in front of the rest and grabbed handfuls of untouched fish filets, half-drained bottles of wine, and loaves of day-old Très Jolie bread. “Zar, baby. I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this. Take the sea bass. It’s still warm.”

“Zar?” Tookie whispered.

Lizzie nodded feverishly, trying not to twitch.

The woman pulled more items out of the Dumpster. “Zar, baby, here’s some sparkling apple cider that’s still cold. Take it, honey, please.”

The girl in the masquerade mask dropped the bottle into her Dream Bag. The same gold glitter that adorned Theophilus’s presidential posters dotted her fingers. Could it really be Zarpessa under there? B3 Zarpessa? The stunning, wealthy girlfriend of Theophilus Lovelaces?

Tookie turned to Lizzie. “But Zarpessa is an heir to the Zarionneaux Peanut Empire! I just saw an ad for their peanut oil in the paper!”

Lizzie shrugged. “I guess they lost their fortune.”

Just then, the masked girl’s head shot up. The dark eyeholes in her mask aimed straight at Tookie and Lizzie. They both ducked, but not quite in time. Zarpessa’s shoulders stiffened. The cider bottle fell out of her Dream Bag, shattering on the ground.

“Run!” Lizzie cried.

They bolted away from the restaurant and sprinted through the sweltering Peppertown streets. Once they were safely out of range, Tookie stopped and bent over, out of breath. “Do you think she saw us?”

“I don’t know,” Lizzie answered.

“I can’t believe it.” Tookie shook her head. “How long do you think she’s been digging through trash?”

“I think it’s been years,” Lizzie said. “She just made the mistake of crossing over into my territory. At the used-clothes dump super-early this morning, I got into a tussle with her over a killer dress. It was deep yellow and it was made with this crazy shimmery fabric. Man, I coulda snuck into some serious black-tie blowouts in that thing. But Miss Zarpessa, she won the tug-of-war. I guess she wanted it more. So, I threw some matching yellow shoes at her. Her shameless butt scooped ’em right up and didn’t even utter a thank-you.”

“Wow,” Tookie whispered. “She’s living one big fat lie.”

“One big fat
homeless
lie. And—”

Suddenly, midsentence, Lizzie’s expression changed, clouding and contorting into a look Tookie knew all too well. Something else had overtaken Lizzie’s mind. Her body twitched. The muscles in her face stretched and contracted. She glared blankly into Tookie’s eyes.

“Tell them to stop,” Lizzie pleaded in a strange, garbled voice. “They always say it won’t hurt, but it does.”

“Lizzie, come back,” Tookie urged, grabbing Lizzie by her shoulders and shaking her.

“I can take it when they hurt me. But when they hurt Robyn, I feel it more.”

“Robyn again? Lizzie, who
is
Robyn?”

Lizzie casually rolled up her sleeve and Tookie’s gaze fell to her friend’s bare arm. Three inflamed red marks marred the crook of her elbow, right at the center. A burn scar traversed her bicep. A larger patch of seared skin bubbled on the inside of her wrist. The burn looked fresh. Tookie winced.