Modelland (9 page)

“Feast your eyes upon … Evanjalinda!” the BellaDonna said over the cheering crowd.

The image of Evanjalinda expanded from the fiery bottom of the mountain to the misty top. The luminescent eye hovered above her head like a golden crown.

“Evanjalinda’s power? Chameeleoné!” the BellaDonna explained. And then Evanjalinda’s appearance changed a dozen times over the course of a few seconds—long hair, short hair, copper-colored, blond, brunette. Almond-shaped eyes, then doe-eyed. Plump lips. Bow-shaped. Her physique morphed too, from a thin frame kissed by an hourglass to one with defined musculature. Then Evanjalinda shook like a dog removing water from its coat and her copper hair and eyes returned, as did her original frame.

“If I had her, I’d have a different girl every night!” a man next to Tookie cried. “I could stop cheating!”

“I want to be just like all of her!” a girl exclaimed.

The BellaDonna’s voice filled the air again. “Next, meet Simone!” The image of Evanjalinda shrank and the swirl of smoke and blue fire climbed up the mountain again, revealing another newly minted Intoxibella. This girl’s hair was slicked into a chic chignon and her eyes were a piercing ink-black. “Simone’s power? Multiplicity!”

Simone raised her arms and swept them gracefully through
the air. Two identical Simones slid out from either side of her body, sending a chorus of oohs through the crowd. Each Simone made a unique pose before being sucked back into the original Simone. The spectators applauded thunderously, overcome with excitement. Tears of joy rolled down some of their cheeks.

Tookie felt a shiver. This was the first time she had ever seen the Intoxibella ceremony in person. And it was even more magical than she’d ever imagined.

“Our third Intoxibella … Bev Jo!” the BellaDonna roared. A raven-haired Intoxibella with sky-high cheekbones and a sharp jawline appeared above the crowd. “Bev Jo’s power? ThirtyNever. When Bev Jo ages to twenty-nine, she will begin her next year looking again like she is seventeen until she reaches twenty-nine again. That cycle will continue until she perishes!”

A gray-haired woman on the ground made a face. “She’s so beautiful, she doesn’t need it! Give me that power. It’s wasted on her!”

“Tell me about it,” Mrs. De La Crème muttered, clutching the side of her precarious face.

“Our fourth Intoxibella … Leemora!” The smoky mountain swirl revealed a dark-haired Intoxibella with seductive narrow eyes. “Her power? Excite-to-Buy … the ability to sell!”

Leemora made an inverted V with her hands and then thrust the point toward the spectators. Tookie touched her hair, acutely conscious of how wild it was. “CheveuxMal,” Tookie suddenly said aloud, feeling like an alien invader had taken over her thoughts. “I need it! Now!”

Beside her, Mrs. De La Crème patted her face. “I should pick up some more Wrinkle Redux.” And similarly, everyone around
them murmured other names of skin products, clothing brands, and diet soft drinks that they suddenly craved.

“Gentlemen, get ready for our fifth Intoxibella … meet Sinndeesi!” The swirl unveiled a platinum-blonde with hazel eyes whose body swayed in a hypnotic dance. Sinndeesi’s smile was blinding, and her Sentura undulated toward the crowd in a come-hither fashion. “Her power?” the BellaDonna teased. “Seduksheeon!” As Sinndeesi’s hair blew in the wind, all the men in the crowd stared. “I’m ready to sin with Sinndeesi, right here, right now!” one of them yelled.

“Our sixth Intoxibella … Katoocha!” said the BellaDonna. A cocoa-skinned, large-eyed beauty with close-cropped hair spun in the air. Unlike the other Intoxibellas, who wore the most fashionable couture, this Intoxibella wore an outrageously mismatched tattered blouse-and-skirt combination. “Her power is SixxSensa, a remarkable supernatural sixth sense. Katoocha can see into the future of fashion—which means this unusual outfit will be on your body next year! Oh, and did I mention that Katoocha has enhanced sight, hearing, touch, taste and smell?”

“Wow,” Tookie murmured. She wouldn’t have minded having all those powers.

As Katoocha faded back into the atmosphere, the BellaDonna cleared her throat. “Unfortunately, once again this year, Modelland has not produced the ultimate Intoxibella, a Triple7, a girl possessing all seven powers. While this is disappointing, it by no means should dull the adoration you give our last newly ordained Intoxibella of the evening. Completing our presentation of this year’s Modelland graduates is a girl who possesses the power of … Teleportaling!”

An Intoxibella with a pixie haircut and aqua eyes whirled
into view. “Her name is quite fitting!” the BellaDonna narrated. “Exodus!”

Tookie shot up. Exodus? Was that a sign?

The sprightly Intoxibella fell backward into an immense hole that formed behind her and disappeared.

“Creamy, she banished right before our eyes!” Myrracle covered her mouth with both hands.

Then something rumbled a few feet away from Tookie. The ground split, making a jagged Z across the sidewalk. It widened and widened, making the earth rumble.

“Look out!” a woman to Tookie’s right yelled. “Earthquake!”

The hole grew larger and larger. Everyone stepped away from it, fearing for their lives—everyone except Tookie, who tiptoed closer to the edge. Out popped a human-sized Exodus. The glorious creature posed triumphantly, then whipped her head around and locked eyes with Tookie and smiled. “Hi there. What’s your name?” she asked.

Tookie stared at her, tongue-tied as usual. Myrracle pushed in front of Tookie. “Myrracle De La Crème!” she screamed, assuming the Intoxibella was talking to her. “You’re so pretty!”

Then Exodus rose into the sky and flew back to the top of the mountain, reappearing seconds later in immense, translucent form.

The BellaDonna’s voice boomed through the sky once more. “Every. Girl. In. The. World. Has. The. Power. Within. Her. To. Become. A. 7. Seven. Is. It. You?”

Fireworks burst around the Intoxibellas. The crowd cheered wildly. Several people fainted.

Tookie suddenly caught a glimpse of blue behind a bench. It was two feet clad in doctor’s booties. She drew in a breath.
Lizzie?

Tookie scampered over worriedly, not even bothering to tell her mother or Myrracle where she was going, since they were transfixed by the spectacle in the sky. Lizzie was half hiding behind a bush, twitching wildly. Her eyes were rolling back in her head.

“Lizzie!” Tookie cried, taking her friend’s hand. “What are you doing here?” Normally, Lizzie didn’t dare show her face in places so public or crowded.

Lizzie just stared ahead into nothingness, not at all unlike Wingtip. Then she spoke in a drone Tookie had never heard from her, as if she was a medium at a séance. “They took her last night. By her feet. The burning continued throughout the night. They cut open her blisters and poured liquid metal into her veins.”

Lizzie then raised the cuffs of her pants, which were dragging on the ground, revealing feet that looked like they had been dipped in battery acid, with open sores that oozed pus. The area near her arches had a hundred little cuts ranged in straight lines, as if they were soldiers ready for battle.

“Lizzie!” Tookie cried. She looked around frantically, hoping someone could help her. “We have to get you to a hospital!”

Lizzie shook her head violently. “No! I don’t need a hospital. They’ll kill me! But … I do need
you
, Tookie.”

Tookie clutched Lizzie’s hands. “Need me? For what?” But Tookie knew what Lizzie meant.

“Exodus,” Lizzie whispered oh-so-faintly.

Tookie widened her eyes. A shiver went through her. “Wh-when?”

“Tomorrow. Please.”

“Tookie!”

Tookie turned at the sound of her mother’s voice. Mrs. De La Crème was standing near the parked cars, looking annoyed. Tookie swallowed hard, then turned back to Lizzie—but she was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh my God,” Tookie whispered, running her hands down the length of her face. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Lizzie had braved this crowded part of Metopia to find Tookie. Whatever was happening to her must have been even scarier than her burns and scars themselves—it was dire. A life-or-painful-death situation.

Exodus
. Lizzie was leaving. Had to leave. And she needed Tookie to come with her.

“You all right?”

It was Wingtip. He stood behind Tookie, his face crumpled with sadness, the shoe slung over his shoulder.

“Oh!” Tookie exclaimed. She tried to wipe away her tears. “Uh, I’m fine.” Then she looked away, feeling awkward. It was so rare for her to speak to strangers. Usually, they didn’t notice her. And her mother’s warning rang in her head. What if there was something wrong with Wingtip? What if he was truly a dangerous man?

“What’s got you so sad, little lady?” Wingtip asked.

Tookie shrugged. “It’s nothing. Really. I’m not supposed to look at you, let alone speak with you.”

He chuckled. “Nothing I’m not used to.”

“Why do you talk to yourself?” Tookie blurted out, then clapped her hand over her mouth, fearing she’d been rude.

But Wingtip didn’t look bothered. “Little lady, when your world has been ripped right from under you, you tend to not trust
much of what anybody says. Anybody but yourself, that is. And I do a good job of keeping myself company.”

“Okay. Confession time,” Tookie said. “Sometimes I speak to myself too, since nobody else does.”

“It’ll stop you from going crazy,” Wingtip chuckled.

“Crazy? Ha! My mother says
you’re
crazy!”

“Oh,
does
she, now? Well, maybe you should listen to your mother.”

“Nah, I think you’re more sad than crazy.”

“Smart little lady you are.” The man fiddled with the laces of the shoe slung over his shoulder. “I know why I’m a sad sap of a man, but why are
you
crying?”

“Um … because it hurts.”

“
What
hurts?”

“Everything.”

“I can relate to that.”

Tookie pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down hard to keep from exploding into more tears. Wingtip leaned forward and pointed at her. “You’ve got more important things to do than hurt, little lady. You’ve got a beautiful light that only a few people can see, shining brightly inside of you.”

“A
light
?” Tookie repeated, hardly believing her ears. Perhaps he’d said a
plight
instead. Or a
blight
.

Wingtip leaned closer, offering a genuine smile. “Go for your destiny, girl. Dream big. Take it from a sad and crazy man who talks to himself. Everyone’s entitled to dream, you know. Even you.”

Tookie looked away. “Dreaming is dangerous, though. It just sets you up for disappointment.”

He gave her a shocked look. “Who gave you that idea?”

Tookie ran her tongue over her teeth.
My parents
, she almost said.

As more fireworks exploded in the sky, Wingtip sighed. “Little lady, if you don’t dream, you’ll wind up not just talking to yourself but answering your own questions, wearing last week’s clothes, and walking around with a shoe over your shoulder.” He rose, slung the shoe onto his back, and gave her a nod. “I’ll be seeing you.” And then he slipped through the crowd, the old wingtip shoe bouncing against his back. Tookie watched him for a moment, awestruck.

“How
dare
you abandon us?”

Tookie turned around and saw her mother standing behind her, Myrracle’s Jurk garment bag in her arms. “You dropped Myrracle’s dress on the ground and the crowd traipsed all over it! What were you doing all the way over here?”

Tookie quickly scooped the bag from her mother’s arms. “I’m s-s-sorry, C-Creamy. I was just …” She gestured at the fervor around them, searching for an excuse. “It’s just, um, h-h-hard not to get caught up in this.”

Mrs. De La Crème blinked hard at her. A cruel smile spread across her face. “What does all this matter to a girl like you, Tookie?”

Tookie swallowed. Normally, she would have wilted, turned away, and told Creamy she was right, but it suddenly felt like she’d just put on a steely coat of armor.
Exodus
, she thought.

Everyone’s entitled to dream, you know. Even you
.

“You’d be surprised,” Tookie said, emboldened. And then she turned away.

“Damn it, woman! Where were you?”

Tookie’s head jerked up from her pillow with a start. She’d been exhausted after the shopping trip and had gone straight to bed.
How long have I been sleeping?

“You came home an hour later than you said you would!” Mr. De La Crème continued with an acidic rage Tookie had never heard before. Then there was a sound of liquid sloshing from a jug, followed by the sharp, sour smell of TaterMash.

Mrs. De La Crème sighed. “You’re drunk, Christopher. For the last time, we were at the mall buying a dress for your daughter and stopped to watch the 7Seven ceremony!”

“Woman, whether you disappear for an hour or days at a time,” Mr. De La Crème scoffed, “you always have some clever excuse!”

Tookie peeked around the corner into her mother’s office, which was next to the kitchen. Mrs. De La Crème was dressed in an ivory satin nightgown with a matching robe that cinched her waist so tightly, Tookie thought it might leave permanent indentations. Creamy sat in a lambskin chair at her massive desk. Brand-new books with shiny covers lined the shelves. Sitting on the long backless couch and the windowsills and in custom displays all around the room was her doll collection, which she’d started years before Tookie had been born.

There were swaddled babies. Dolls with eyes that opened and closed. Dolls that wet themselves and digested food and spoke. Each was positioned just so, an arm curled here, a leg crossed there. Their heads pointed straight at Tookie’s mother, as though she were conducting a meeting with all of them. Tookie wished she could close every single pair of glassy eyes. Maybe if they didn’t stare so adoringly at her mother, Mrs. De La Crème could resist their charms and would share some of her love with Tookie.

Mr. De La Crème stood in front of his wife, his hands balled into fists on his hips. “Oh, I know you stopped to watch the 7Sevens. But I also know you can see that damn show from anywhere in the world. Hell, I saw it right here from our front porch. You could have watched it here with me. But no, you wanted to watch it with your man friend, didn’t you? I know people, Creamy! And I trust what they tell me!”