Modelland

by Tyra Banks

  “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?”

  She whipped around and stared at Tookie, challenging her to say something. Tookie stared at the marble floor.

  “It is Tookie,” Kamalini corrected Zarpessa.

  “Whatever,” Zarpessa said loftily.

  Head hanging, Tookie walked through the room, trying to feel for another bed. Finally, in the darkest corner of the room, she hit an invisible post. When the outline of the bed formed, it was smaller than the others, and the sheets were the teensiest bit scratchy. This bed’s fine, she told herself. The pencil-lead sounds kicked in, and soon Tookie’s image was staring back at her.

  “So, what do you think of your room?” ZhenZhen said, walking in. “Incredible, right?

  “Listen,” she went on. “You can only keep two things from home. The clothes you wore here are in those burlap sacks. Make your choices by tomorrow morning.” Then she stepped back into the hall. “And oh! One more thing. We tell time by color, not by number. Look for the clocks around the Land. You’ll get the hang of them soon!”

  As soon as ZhenZhen departed, four nightstands appeared. Resting on them were soft, elaborate cotton nightgowns and Modelland-monogrammed toiletry bags. A tag on the gown read Fashioned especially for you, based on the calculations from your THBC measurements session.

  The girls began removing their uniforms. Tookie changed into her nightie. It had an attached cape that hit halfway down her thighs. It fit around the shoulders, waist, and arms instead of gaping and pulling and pinching like all of Myrracle’s hand-me-ups. She pushed her feet into the Modelland slipper booties, happy they didn’t cramp her toes.

  “Only two things from home?” Zarpessa said, pouting. “That sucks.”

  But for Tookie, it wasn’t a hard choice at all. She reached for her burlap sack. Item Number One: T-Mail Jail, which she pulled from her cargo pants pocket and stashed in the top drawer of her nightstand. Next to her, she noticed Shiraz stuffing a stiff piece of paper into her own drawer.

  Tookie knew what her Item Number Two was to be too. She reached into the smaller pocket of her cargo pants and closed her fingers around the round, dented button. T O OKE. Just touching it made her feel better. She removed it from her pocket and held it in her palm.

  “What’s that beat-up thing?”

  Tookie’s head shot up. Zarpessa was staring at her. Tookie quickly closed her fist. What was I thinking? I can’t have this pin in plain sight—not in front of Theophilus’s girlfriend! Tookie knew the button was damaged and not easily recognizable, but she feared Zarpessa would be able to tell what it was. “It’s a … a …,” she stammered.

  “Huh? It’s a what?” Zarpessa made a face.

  Frantic, Tookie skidded around the room, looking for something to cover up the pin. Everyone stared at her, even Shiraz and Kamalini. Then Tookie turned to the hallway. Yes! She snagged a large, thorny flower with long streamers and pointy tendrils from one of the art pieces and nervously fashioned the flower into an oversized corsage, which she pinned over the button. The brooch was nearly the size of her head and looked as though it might lash out and bite off someone’s arm, but it covered up her secret Theophilus treasure.

  As soon as Tookie returned to the bedroom, an announcement blared over a hidden loudspeaker. “All Bellas must retire to their beds and rest up for the first day of classes tomorrow. It is now time for the Lumière.”

  Snap. The overhead bulbs went dark, but faint light from the crescent moon still shone through the window. Tookie fell into her small, scratchy bed. She felt a throb in her lower back, a kind of ache she’d never felt before. The dull pain traveled to her hips. She was so exhausted from the day, the tiniest muscles, even the ones around her eyes, ached.

  The room filled with the soft sounds of everyone pulling back covers and slipping under the sheets. “Good night,” Shiraz and Kamalini said sweetly. Zarpessa said nothing. Silence filled the room, and Tookie’s mind started to wander and drift. Just as she was about to sink into sleep, a light popped on.

  “What that?” Shiraz sat straight up in bed.

  A spotlight shone on Zarpessa’s face. Whenever Zarpessa moved, the light moved with her.

  “Hide under the overpass!” Zarpessa screamed, clearly half asleep. Tookie stifled a laugh. Maybe this is some kind of punishment.

  But then Zarpessa rubbed her eyes, seeming to awaken. She suddenly looked ecstatic. “Ohmigod! It’s my Lumière!”

  “Loo-mee-air?” Shiraz repeated.

  Zarpessa tilted her chin toward the light as though it were a sun lamp. “The Lumière is the special light that shines on Bellas at night. It’s whatever their most flattering light is—candlelight, sunlight, whatever. And look! Mine is a spotlight! It means I’m going to be a superstar Intoxibella! My pow-pow-powers are right
around the corner! I’m going to be a Quadruple7, bigger than Ci~L!”

  Suddenly, a warm reddish light snapped on over Kamalini’s bed. Kamalini let out an irritated shriek and pulled the covers over her head. “We cannot sleep with lights on!” she wailed. “We need darkness!”

  “But Kamalini,” Zarpessa said in a patronizing voice. “It’s an honor. The Lumière is supposed to give you all kinds of restorative gifts throughout the night. Plus, it helps keep your skin fresh and dewy!”

  “And so does sleep!” Kamalini protested.

  Down the hall, in all the other rooms, other girls were calling out as well: “It’s so bright!” “Mine’s glow sticks!” “Are we really supposed to sleep with these on us all night?” Tookie waited for her own light to shine, but the space above her bed remained dark. Then she cast her eyes to the right. There was another dark bed in the room: Shiraz’s.

  Shiraz’s bed creaked. She stood up on the mattress and inspected the ceiling. “Is Lumière supposed to happen to every girl here?”

  “Every model,” Zarpessa corrected her.

  Shiraz glared at her. “I model. I just as beauty as you. Maybe my light broken.”

  “It’s not a matter of its being broken or not.” Zarpessa settled onto her pillow like a princess, fanning her hair around her. “It’s more about the quality of the girl in the bed. Maybe some of you don’t belong here. Maybe some of you are here for other reasons. Oh my, I’ve sacrificed so much beauty rest speaking to you all. Good night.”

  In the dim Lumière light, Tookie could see Shiraz opening her mouth. A small moan escaped it. Shiraz stared across the room to Tookie’s dark bed and met her eyes.

  The sacrifices.

  That’s ridiculous. Zarpessa’s just trying to scare us. It’s just a dumb rumor, Tookie thought. But when she closed her eyes again, she wasn’t so sure.

  Darkness surrounded her. Cold marble pressed on the soles of her bare feet. A draft cut through her bedclothes and made her body shudder in one hard, painful wave.

  A faucet dripped close by. Papers rustled. Over her head, she could hear tiny footsteps. Mice? She blinked hard, but her eyes couldn’t pull in more light.

  Where am I? Was it all a dream? Am I back home in Peppertown?

  Tookie spied a small window high over her head. The tips of the M building glowed not far away. She was still here. At Modelland. But she’d sleepwalked. This definitely isn’t the D.

  Tookie found a wall and felt her way around. Slowly, she rounded a dark corner and saw a few flickering candles through an opening. She hoped it was a passage that led back to the D. She had to get back to her bed. The Modelland staff and security probably didn’t like night wanderers.

  She approached the door carefully and put her hand on the knob. Suddenly, a sharp sound made her stop. Whack! Whack!

  More whacks came, followed by whimpers and the muddy sound of breathy, unintelligible words. Heart pounding, Tookie poked her head around the doorframe. Inside was a cinder-block room that resembled a jail cell. A figure was on its knees, rocking back and forth and mumbling “It’smyfaultIt’smyfaultIt’smyfault” over and over and over. The person held a wooden plank in hand, and their back was bruised and bloody. The only item in the room was a picture pinned to the wall. Tookie squinted at it, recognizing the three pillars immediately: the Obscure Obelisks, the bizarre structures that had arisen in LaDorno seemingly overnight.

  More chants and deeper moans came from the figure. The deranged person raised the plank once more. “No!” Tookie said silently. Who could do such a thing to themselves?

  WHACK!

  A gash in the figure’s back opened and Tookie could see raw flesh. And still Tookie stood paralyzed at the door.

  WHACK!

  More flesh broke. What were once pinpricks of red now oozed blood from deeper cuts and gashes.

  Then the figure reached up to the Obscure Obelisks, its hands flailing, as if the figure was blind and elderly and desperately trying to connect with an unseen face. Hands clawed at the photo, and the figure started to beat its forehead against it. Then came a wail so deep, so guttural, so agonizing … “AAAUGHH! SORRY SORRY SO SO SORRY SORRY SORRY!”

  Tookie gasped, never having heard such a horrible sound. The figure in the room stiffened at the noise and raised its head. And suddenly, Tookie caught sight of who it was. It was a face she—and all the world—knew very, very well.

  Ci~L.

  19

  CARACARACARA AND THE DORMITORY EFFECT

  The next morning, when Tookie opened her eyes again, she was lying on her bed in the D, tucked safely underneath her covers. She rubbed her eyes, instantly remembering the night before. What had that been about? Had she seriously seen Ci~L hurting herself? Why?

  Tookie was used to having awful nightmares and even night terrors when she woke up screaming, so she couldn’t tell her friends what she’d seen. Not until she knew it was real.

  Disoriented, Tookie stumbled into the large, sterile-looking community bathroom. As she did, a dull pain shot through her legs, hips, and stomach. She doubled over, feeling as though she was about to vomit. Perfect, she thought. I’m sick on the first day of school.

  Everyone in the bathroom wore clear shower sandals and aqua bathrobes with yellow arms and lapels that formed an M. The backs of their bathrobes sported immense eyes decorated with SMIZEs. All at once, every single girl in the bathroom doubled over in pain, gripping her stomach and back just as Tookie had. As a bathroom stall door banged open, Tookie caught sight of scrawled graffiti on the wall. Many of the drawings were just of hearts and initials, but several stood out: And

  She trudged up to one of the twenty-five sinks cut into a long slab of white and gray marble. Over each sink hung a white-framed rectangular mirror with different-sized holes in it. One hole spat a perfect plume of cold blue water. Another shot out red-tinged hot water. A large hole emitted purplish-tinged water, a perfect combination of hot and cold.

  Tookie spotted Piper at a corner sink and walked toward her, trying not to fall over from another sudden stomach spasm. Piper had laid out a series of toiletries, including a toothbrush, toothpaste, a hairbrush, and a comb, in a neat, even line. When she bumped one out of place, she quickly pushed it back into position. She was also playing with a puzzle that had many moving pieces with scrambled parts of a picture. A golden light overhead danced on her delicate skin, enhancing the elegant angles of her chin and shoulders. Every movement Piper makes could be a beautiful picture, Tookie thought. She’s posing, even though she doesn’t realize it.

  “Where’d you get all that stuff?” Tookie asked.

  Piper looked up at her and smiled. “This I brought from home.” The tiles formed a picture of Piper’s mother on a throne with a stately man standing next to her. Piper tried to hide the puzzle from Tookie, snapping the last tile into its proper place. “The other stuff was on my nightstand. You didn’t get a toiletries kit?”

  Tookie blinked. “It’s back in my room. Do you mind if I borrow some paste?”

  “Sure,” Piper said. Then she shoved the puzzle at Tookie, making sure to hold it upside down so Tookie couldn’t see the picture. “Would you mind messing this up for me first?”

  Tookie stared at her. “But you just solved it.”

  Piper raised one shoulder. “I know. But I’ll solve it again. Playing with it keeps me sane.”

  Puzzles weren’t Tookie’s thing—it would probably take forever for her to figure this one out. But she’d heard this about people of SansColor: they were geniuses, adept at all subjects, masters of science, mathematics, music, and art.

  She took the puzzle and rearranged the pieces for Piper without looking at it. “Who are you rooming with?” she asked.

  “Dylan and I are in with that strumpet Chaste.” Piper rolled her eyes. “And the Likee sisters—I believe Modelland is counting them as one. They’re all sleeping squashed together in one bed.”

  “Weird,” Tookie murmured. She opened her mouth to r
eceive the waterspout. Bright blue water sprang out, hitting her upper lip and her nostrils, sending shivers and cramps up her nearly bare back.

  “You look freezing,” Piper said. “Didn’t a robe appear in your closet this morning?” She pointed to her own.

  Tookie lifted her right shoulder and raised her eyebrows. Then she grabbed Piper’s toothpaste, doled out a narrow strip on her left index finger, and started rubbing her teeth.

  “Does that do much?” Piper asked curiously.

  “Better than nothing. Plus, I don’t have time for a shower.”

  Piper looked closely at Tookie. “I would recommend you not skip bathing today, Tookie. This is the one week where you want to be as spotlessly clean as possible.”

  Tookie shut her eyes, wincing again with another pain. “Piper, my back and tummy are killing me!” she whispered.

  Piper shrugged. “Join the club, Tookie. Every new Bella started menstruating at the exact same time this morning.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “You’ve never heard of menstrual synchrony, or the dormitory effect?” Piper asked. “Menstrual synchrony is a theory that suggests that the menstruation cycles of women who cohabitate—think army barracks, female penitentiaries, convents, and university dormitories—synchronize over time. It usually takes months for the alignment to occur, but here at Modelland, it seems to have happened in twenty-four hours.”

  “But I’ve never gotten my period before this,” Tookie whispered.

  “Well, Tookie, looks like you’re a woman now,” Piper said.

  Tookie was about to protest—there was no way she was any more womanly today than she had been the day before—but all of a sudden, she felt that perhaps something in her had changed. Those abdominal pains made so much sense, after all. And that certainly made them more bearable—for once, she felt normal, like everyone else.

  Then, as she glanced down at the sink again, she noticed Piper’s toothbrush. It was made of an iridescent pearllike substance, and its bristles were fashioned in the shape of an eye.

  Just looking at the toothbrush made a memory strike her hard: She is uncoordinated, unattractive, and unmemorable.… She’s not mine, Creamy.