Modelland (61 page)

D
O YOU
see her?

The girl whose face looks, well, maybe not symmetrical, but still quite interesting. Yes, her eyes are still three centimeters too far apart and her mouth is four centimeters too wide, and yes, when you look at her face you might say something is definitely … off. But perhaps its unusual qualities draw your attention, making you linger
.

Come on now, you see her. If you tilt your head up, up, way up, and stare at the mountain, she’s standing outside on top of the M building, her gauzy Modelland nightgown waving in the breeze
.

She’s the girl whose hair still has multiple personality disorder and can’t decide if it’s supposed to be quasi-curly, silky-straight, frantic-frizzy, wet-and-wavy, or a “Power to the People” ’fro. But she’s kind
of okay with that. The girl whose feet are still the size of last winter’s snowshoes. She’s not okay with that. But her body is no longer hunched over—instead she stands tall, like she’s sprouted an inch or two. And her stick-figure arms and legs are still fragile, yes, but there’s something a little more filled-out about her than before. Even so, you still might hear her limbs pleading, “Feed me an entire vat of whipped cream, now!” But that’s only because she fancies the delicacy so much
.

Her head’s still the size of a punch bowl, with a forehead that goes on and on and on, but she holds it high, like only someone whose big brain is filled with eloquent strings of words and brave, gutsy thoughts can do. And her eyes, though mismatched—one green, one brown—just add to her uniqueness. They almost look, dare I say, enchanting
.

Do you see Tookie De La Crème up there?

I bet you do
.

And I bet you’ll remember her
.

For a long, long time
.

Our tale ends on a clear, starry evening, the most extraordinary of extraordinary evenings in the most extraordinary of places. And Tookie De La Crème, Modelland Bella, was not lying on the floor of B3, praying for students to trample her, but instead was standing outside atop the M building, wind in her hair, goose bumps on her bare arms.

She looked down at the expanse of Metopia’s four distinct quadrants surrounding the mountain and prayed that Lizzie was still down there, still alive. Then she ran her hand over the wide stretch of skin above her eyebrows. All of a sudden, something ironic occurred to her: the adjective form of the word
Metopia
was
Metopic
, which meant, as she’d found in Dr. Erica’s medical dictionary, “of or pertaining to the forehead.”
It’s a wonder I wasn’t the
queen
of Metopia
.

Modelland was still anything but calm. Even though it was past midnight, Bellas still crammed Beautification Boulevard in protest, demanding answers about why the 7Seven Tournament had abruptly ceased. 7Seven contestants lay on the golden plaza, crying golden tears. Bestosteros stood guard among the crazed Bellas, trying to keep the peace. Purses circled and doctors skated around the crowd, scooping up the girls who were on the verge of nervous breakdowns. Then, from a corner of the plaza, Tookie heard a
meow!
followed by a scream. “Get away from me, you bitey-scratchy things! Creameeeeeee!” a ditzy voice whined.

Myrracle?
Tookie thought, perking up. Was her sister still at Modelland, now trapped in Catwalk Corridor?
Well, at least she’s here
, Tookie thought, stifling a giggle.
Modelland is where she belongs, after all
.

“Isn’t the view amazing?” a voice said. Tookie turned, and there was Ci~L, wrapped in a gauzy jumpsuit with batwing sleeves. “I guess I’ll get to see it all the time now.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Tookie agreed. Earlier that evening, a note had been slipped under her door:

Ci~L, who had not announced her reign to the Bellas yet—the Bored was still debating the most opportune time to do so—had given Tookie a special permit to get into the M building without setting off any alarms. Tookie had passed a few guards on her way up, but they’d just nodded at her like she was someone special.

Maybe she was.

Now Ci~L glanced at the large statue of the BellaDonna. It was covered with an enormous dropcloth. Next to it, a new statue was ensconced with scaffolding. Sculptors toiled away, carving the rock. Tookie knew this new statue would be of Ci~L. Princess BellaDonna of Modelland.

“This is all so freaky,” Ci~L whispered. “It’s kinda weirding me out.”

Tookie looked at her. “What do you think will happen to … her? The old BellaDonna? Your …” She trailed off, unable to say
mother
. “Will she stay in the Ugly Room?”

“I may be the Princess BellaDonna, but that’s not for me to decide,” Ci~L answered, great sadness in her voice. “The Bored makes that decision based on a volume of rules and bylaws taller than you and thicker than me. I just hope they aren’t too harsh on her. Yeah, she may have committed a crime, and she certainly did something insane that changed my childhood forever, but she’s still my …” She bit her lip, unable to say
mother
either.

Then Ci~L looked out over the great expanse of the Land. “You’ve been at Modelland a whole year, Tookie. I spoke with the Bored. Despite your crazy mama’s trespassing and the whole T-DOD switcheroo thingy, unfortunately, you’re stuck here at Modelland.” She winked at Tookie. “Yep, girl, they want you here. Well, most of us do.”

“Really?”
Tookie breathed out, her body filling with elation and relief.

Ci~L waved a finger at Tookie, her face stern. “But don’t be putting ya celebration shoes on just yet. Applaussez still thinks you’re a seamstress. Plus, when I was here, second year was crazy hard. Shoot, they’re easy on you No-See Bellas.”

“This year was
easy
?” Tookie sputtered in disbelief.

Ci~L nodded, moonlight dancing on her face. “But from here on out, it gets insane. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a new Triple7 sheriff in town, but I don’t know exactly how I’ll be changing things around here. I
do
know I’ma do things Ci~L–style, minus the crazy and spooky parts. And shoot, maybe I’ll throw in some posing poetry slams and oh my God, who knows what else. But what I
do
know is that I wanna make this a place where girls like my sister-friends could have come.” Her eyes watered with tears. “But that’ll be an uphill battle with the Bored,” she said, wiping her tears away. Then she looked at Tookie. “But mark my words, your
segunda
year will be like hell … in heaven. Think you can handle that? Plus a uniform change from green to violet?”

Tookie nodded shakily. “I want to try. I … I love it here. I feel like I almost belong.”

“Because you do, girl.” Ci~L’s gaze was intense. “Look, Tookie, you’ve been underestimated your entire life, including here. The wind is in your face, it’s blowin’ harder than GustGape, and it ain’t dying down anytime soon. But that’s actually a good thing, because when people have low expectations, you’re just constantly going, ‘Ta-dah!’ And they’re like, ‘Wow, I had no idea!’ It doesn’t take a lot to wow them when they don’t expect much from you. You’ve got to go for your destiny now—that’s how I became a
Triple7, girl. Dream big—bigger than you ever have, so big that people laugh in your face. You need to grab on to the handlebars of fierceness and not let go. Because you’re
special
, Tookie. You might not know it yet, but you’ve got a beautiful light that shines inside of you.”

Tookie’s jaw dropped. “Someone else told me that exact same thing once,” she whispered, remembering Wingtip’s uplifting words from a year ago. It made sense that Ci~L had nearly echoed him: Wingtip—Ray Faye—was her father, after all.

Tookie breathed in, wanting to tell Ci~L something about her dad—that he was warm and tender, that he would have cared for her dearly, and that maybe he’d descended into melancholy because he’d lost her forever. Then Ci~L touched her arm. “Wanna fly with me?”

Tookie frowned. “Like on T-DOD? Like when you brought us back from LaDorno?”

Ci~L shook her head. “Naw, girl. Been there, done that.
Outside
the pouch.” She lowered her chin, and her batwing outfit disappeared and a thousand glittering necklaces appeared all over her body. It was the same outfit she had worn on T-DOD. One of the necklaces stretched out like a tentacle and looped over Tookie’s head. A warm light glowed. Tookie’s nightgown lit up, revealing hundreds of strands of bejeweled necklaces.

Tookie gasped. Ci~L grinned. “Girl, if you want to fly with me, you gotta
look
fly. You dropped something after ManAttack. Thought you’d like it back.” Ci~L placed her hands over Tookie’s face.

An incredible, familiar feeling swept over Tookie. The SMIZE! This time she recognized the energy that pulsed through her, and just like before, power zipped through her veins.

Feelings like waves of intense ecstasy crashed into her, surrounding her with the most magnificent smells and tastes and sounds ever heard.

She felt tantalizing. Luminescent. Invincible.

Drop-dead … 
beautiful
.

“Ready?” Ci~L reached out her hand to Tookie just as she had when they’d stood atop the car in LaDorno Square. Tookie grabbed it tight. She wasn’t afraid this time, though—she was excited. She gripped Ci~L’s hand with pride and conviction.

“Now climb on my back,” Ci~L instructed.

And as they took off into the sky, Tookie thought about how much she’d changed since the day Ci~L had plucked her from her family in LaDorno on the Day of Discovery a year before. She was a different person now—confident, nervy. A friend who had friendSSSS. A leader. Suddenly, as the wind whipped through her multitextured hair, she thought of the letter she’d composed a few hours ago in her
T-Mail Jail
. The sentences flowed fluidly in her mind, just as they had done when she’d written them down on paper.