Modelland (58 page)

Persimmon stepped between the warring women. “Cremalatta! Ladonna! Stop it!”

“This isn’t your concern, Percy!” Creamy shrieked, shoving Persimmon hard and sending her reeling into the far wall. Ci~L ran to Persimmon and helped her up.

Creamy lunged for the BellaDonna once more. Just as their bodies clashed, a piercing scream rang through the air. Bellissima flew across the room. Droplets of something landed on Tookie’s cheek. Then … dead silence.

Creamy and the BellaDonna huddled together for a moment, as though locked in an intimate embrace. But then Tookie saw a sharp, shiny metal object piercing her mother’s gut and protruding clear through her back. The two women were skewered together with a spike from the BellaDonna’s dress.

“Back together again,” Persimmon muttered from the sidelines, rubbing the lump on her head.

Tookie wiped the moisture that had splashed her face, then looked at her hand. It was smeared with red.
Blood
.

“Creamy!” she screamed.

Blood gushed from Creamy’s wound. The BellaDonna’s olive complexion had gone pale from shock. Creamy writhed desperately to free herself from the BellaDonna’s spike. Once she did, she spun around and staggered a few steps forward. Her eyes rolled back. Reddish froth spilled from her mouth. Blood trickled out of her nose. After a moment, she crumpled to the ground in a heap.

“Oh my God, Mommy!” Tookie tore across the floor, slid on the spilled blood, and dropped to her knees. “Oh, M-Mommy,” she whispered, cradling the woman’s head in her hands.

Creamy’s eyes fluttered open and locked with her daughter’s. “What did you just call me?”

“Mom—I mean, C-Creamy!” Tookie corrected herself.

Creamy nodded faintly, her face now ashen. Blood pulsed from her abdomen in time with the beat of her heart. Tookie could see her slipping away with each passing second. Creamy stared woozily at her daughter and then muttered, “Tookie …,” followed by something barely audible.

“Wh-what was that, Creamy?” Tookie asked gently, bringing her ear closer to her mother’s lips. All the negativity she’d felt about her mother was instantly replaced by a fervent, protective love. Creamy may not have been the best mom in the world, but she was all Tookie had. If these were Creamy’s last moments, Tookie wanted to be there for her. She wanted Creamy to know she loved her.

Creamy swallowed, as if mustering up her strength to utter her last words. Then, through cracked lips, she spoke:

“Tookie, get … me … my … Bellissima.”

Footsteps rang out in the hall. The heavy iron and concrete doors blocking off the Flashback room rose. Tookie thought it might be Myrracle, but Gunnero Narzz rushed in, followed by six Bestostero guards. “Cut the primping, BellaDonna. Your crowd has been sitting in their seats so long they’re starting to stink like last year’s trends.” He gestured to the stadium scene projected on the wall. The acrobats had wandered off, and the jungle cats had been stuffed back into their cages because they’d become too restless and violent to be loose.

And then he eyed the grisly scene: The dirty, bloodied woman on the floor. The pool of blood around her, getting larger by the second. The bloodied spikes on the BellaDonna’s gown. “What in
knockoff handbag hell have you
done
?” he whispered to the BellaDonna, and pressed his long, slender fingers to his mouth.

A muscle twitched in the BellaDonna’s throat. “It was an accident,” she croaked helplessly.

“No it wasn’t,” a voice piped up. Everyone looked over. It was Persimmon. Her face hard. Cold. “I saw the whole thing,” the Mannecant said. “It was deliberate.”

“Persimmon!” the BellaDonna cried, her expression full of horror and betrayal. “You know that’s
not
true. Take it back now!”

Persimmon didn’t move. For a moment, her face flickered between pure hatred and undying loyalty, but it settled on resentment.
You deserve it
, her expression seemed to say. And then she turned and walked silently out of the room.

The BellaDonna gazed around frantically, searching for anyone who might back her up. Finally, her gaze landed on Tookie. “Tookie!” she screeched. “You saw everything. You know I didn’t mean to hurt your mother!
Help me!
”

A pang of guilt shot through Tookie. The BellaDonna had chosen Tookie to come to Modelland, after all. But Tookie knew it hadn’t been for the right reasons. She knew that danger still lurked somewhere. She just wasn’t sure where, or in what form. And honestly, Tookie couldn’t tell if the BellaDonna had meant to stab her mother or not. It all happened so fast. Slowly, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, BellaDonna. But you hurt my mother really badly. I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t pin-tuck your way out of this one,” Gunnero giggled nastily. And then he dragged the screaming, writhing BellaDonna out of the room by her seven-inch stilettos.

Finally, three hours, thirty-seven minutes, and twenty-eight seconds after everyone had gathered in the stadium, Gunnero Narzz walked onto the stage, his face drawn and serious. He conferred with the Bored for a moment. Every Bored member gasped. The huddle broke, and Narzz approached the microphone. “May I have your attention?” his voice boomed.

The crowd immediately went silent and still. No one breathed.

Narzz cleared his throat. “While you all have been sitting here in your seats like unwanted hemp-sewn ecofashion on a biodegradable shelf, something tragic has happened here on Modelland grounds. You don’t deserve to know the details, but I will share with you one thing: the 7Seven Tournament is … postponed.”

The crowd gasped.

“Indefinitely.”

The upperclassBellas all screamed.

“And there will be no Day of Discovery discoveries tomorrow either,” Narzz went on, looking pained. “Modelland is shutting down until further notice.
Merci
and
sayonara. Danke
and
zài jiàn. Gracias
and
arrivederci.
”

Oh, this was a heavy day, dahling. In the history of Modelland—in the history of the world, I daresay—this was one of the most disastrous, devastating, disheartening days ever. Monsieur Narzz’s message had reached everyone in the world at exactly the same time, the announcement flowing like lava down the mountain and incinerating everything in its wake. And dahling, the immediate effects of such a decree upon the world were, well, tragic
.

Hospitals from Terra BossaNova to TooLip were flooded with victims
who’d fainted from the hideous blow. Fashion designers fell into debilitating depressions, shocked that they would be given no new muses for inspiration. Some abandoned their showrooms. Others hurled themselves off their tall buildings in LaDorno, their bodies crashing to the street in front of tourists and children
.

All of Metopia’s fashion factories shut down—there was no need to produce new wares, after all, with no hope of new Intoxibellas to display them. Sure, there were existing Intoxibellas who were more than capable of rocking new wares. But this is fashion, dahling. And fashion is obsessed with the nouveau. Factory workers spilled onto the streets, angry and aimless. Some looted stores, breaking glass and stealing purses, shoes, dresses, suits. But Factory Dependents reveled in the madness, breaking free of their semi-enslavement and adorning their malnourished bodies with the glamorous goods they were forced to produce. Hoodlums in NorDenSwee, Cappuccina, and Oktoober-fest defaced the Intoxibella billboards that rose high above city streets, covering them with the words
Liars
and
Betrayers
and
IntoxiHellas.
Sidewalks that read
WHERE THE HELL IS Ci~L? WE NEED HER
now bore the answer
WHO THE HELL CARES!
Rioters rushed the Sapphire Esplanade in LaDorno, grabbing perfume bottles and hurling them at one another like missiles. Vicious fights erupted in the mall corridors—people tore at one another’s clothes, gouged out eyeballs, and drowned one another in the fountains. Devastated girls dragged high, medium, and low fashions from the stores to the parking lots and lit them on fire. Another group knocked over a wheeled cart selling Modelland T-shirts, hats, and coffee mugs, throwing everything into the flames. A singed glossy photo of Ci~L slowly disintegrated to ash. A flag depicting the Modelland golden-eye SMIZE went up in a blue blaze
.

Why all the bedlam, you ask? Well, the only thing certain in the
world, the only thing on which many people could depend, their single source of happiness and hope, had been postponed … indefinitely. What did that
mean?
One day? Two? Or … forever?

Think about how you’d feel, dahling. Think about if someone suffocated you, strangled you, cut off your nose, held you underwater, for that is how the globe’s population felt
.

Guru Gunnero’s announcement had cut off the world’s oxygen supply, and they were desperately gulping for air
.

In the depths of the stadium, Persimmon led Tookie through a dripping corridor and stopped at a heavy stone door with the words
LA CAMARA BRUTTA
etched into it. The artery-like dungeon walls were red and pulsing, like they were inside a giant organ. There was a bloodthirsty feeling in the air … as well as the unpleasant odor of human waste. Tookie recognized the eerie place as the location where she had first seen Ci~L abusing herself. But she had only peeked in. She had not entered.

Persimmon finally spoke. “The Ugly Room is a place for those who have committed vile sins. Sins far worse than the ones that send Bellas to the Catwalk Corridor.”

“Ci~L spent some time here, didn’t she?” Tookie asked, already knowing the answer.

Persimmon nodded. “Every mirror, every surface in this room, reflects the most repugnant version of the transgressor. Now close your eyes.”

Tookie did as she was told, and Persimmon sprayed a fine golden mist around her face. “Anti-Repugnancy Spritz,” Persimmon explained. “To make sure you don’t experience the Ugly Room’s effects.”

Tookie opened her eyes once more. Persimmon still stood in front of her, as if she wanted to say something. Tookie thought of the memory that she’d just seen. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “About … you know. You.”

Persimmon lowered her head. “So am I,” she sighed, then sharply turned and walked away.

A moment later, Ci~L stepped inside the Ugly Room. While Persimmon sprayed her, Tookie overheard Persimmon whispering in Ci~L’s ear. “Do you realize that if you were never born, I’d be
you
—a Triple7. The day you took your first breath was the day my life ended.” Persimmon took one last look at Ci~L and then left the room.

When Ci~L opened her eyes, she looked guilty, fragile, and naïve instead of confident and strong. She turned to go after Persimmon but stopped when she heard Tookie’s voice.

“Ci~L, it’s not your fault. Or Persimmon’s. You’re both victims. Are you … okay?”

Ci~L shrugged. “I have no idea.” She sounded absolutely drained.