Modelland

by Tyra Banks

  The Guru pointed to the exit at the far side of the shark. A second boat had appeared where the bridge had once been. As soon as the girls stepped inside the cabin, the boat moved away from the dock and began to float down the long river. Then three-dimensional images of the Bellas during the CaraCaraCara exercise appeared in midair. The images moved and morphed, showing each of their many expressions.

  “Ooh!” some girls squealed. “Yuck!” others cried. “Can I erase this one?” Bo murmured stoically. And Chaste batted her eyelashes at herself. “Honey,” she said to her image, “if I were a guy, I’d want a piece of you.”

  “Look at that hideous thing,” a voice called from the other side of the boat. It was Zarpessa, and she was staring at Tookie’s repeating loop. Zarpessa nudged Chaste. “You know those rumors about Scouts choosing civilian girls to come to Modelland to be used as sacrifices, experiments and food? I certainly wouldn’t want to eat that.”

  Tookie moved to the front of the boat to look at her images. In each, she looked awkward, confused, and just … wrong. She looked over at the Guru. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head slowly from side to side. These were the type of photos that would fail her. The type of photos that would get her kicked out of Modelland and sent back to Peppertown. Forever.

  She closed her eyes and thought about the fate that awaited her in Peppertown. A family who didn’t want her … a best friend who probably hated her now that she’d abandoned her … a life as a Factory Dependent. I can’t go back there. I can’t get sent home.

  But then she thought about the sacrifice rumor. Torturing girls in dreadful experiments. Siphoning their blood for ancient ritual. Making an offering to whatever magical beings had founded Modelland in the first place. If that was in store for her, she couldn’t imagine staying here either.

  Cold fear trickled down her neck. Had she come this far … only to be a human guinea pig?

  20

  RUN AND GUN

  Tookie stepped into her next class, Run-a-Way Intensive. It took place in a long, narrow building the length of the Sapphire Esplanade Mall and the width of a half-dozen bowling lanes. A curved staircase led up to a vast mezzanine; each tread bore a hologram of an Intoxibella famous for her runway walk. Tookie spied many Intoxibellas she recognized, including Ci~L. Her hologram was extremely faint, though, a ghost slowly disappearing.

  She thought about that terrifying vision of Ci~L beating herself. Had it been a dream?

  Shiraz immediately skipped over and grabbed Tookie’s hand. “Yay! We are in the Run-a-Way class together too! Stand by me!”

  As they scuttled into the classroom, Tookie could feel two pairs of familiar eyes BitterBalling her again.

  Zarpessa wrinkled her nose at Tookie like she smelled raw sewage. “I see they haven’t turned you into Too-Too Barbeque yet.” Chaste laughed so hard she snorted.

  Tookie gritted her teeth. She was dying to retaliate and whisper something clever about digging through Dumpsters. But then she closed her eyes and thought of Ci~L’s advice. Don’t stoop to her level. Don’t stoop to her level.

  Dylan and Piper entered the room as well, beaming as they spied Tookie and Shiraz. Besides the four of them and Zarpessa and Chaste, Tookie recognized only two other girls in the room, tear-streaked Desperada. She was crying even harder now, if that was possible.

  Then Gunnero Narzz whirled through the door. Everyone bristled. Ugh, not him, Tookie thought.

  “We meet again, my dear No-Sees,” he growled, sweeping his gray eyes over the crowd. “As you know, I am not only the administrator of the terror-filled THBC, I am also the official, the omnipotent, the one and the only Pace Parader, Sauntering Serenader, Gangway Gallavanter, your Run-a-Way Intensive educator. If you thought you came to despise me during your time at Thigh-High Boot Camp, think again, because you have yet to experience me teach the strut in all of my sumptuous, unfettered glory!”

  Gunnero stuck his arms in the air to pose in a V and sashayed up and down the runway between the girls. The door burst open again, and he whipped back around and glared at the intruder. It was Persimmon, the BellaDonna’s devoted Mannecant.

  Gunnero scowled. “What the—”

  Persimmon cleared her throat, cutting him off. “By order of the most beloved of the beloved, the chicest of the chic, the definer of all things beautiful, and the esteemed leader of all Bellas, the BellaDonna declares that today’s session of Run-a-Way will be co-instructed by the only living Triple7—”

  “Per, you’re kidding me, right?” Gunnero closed his slate-colored eyes. “Body Girl? In my class?”

  Tookie glanced at Shiraz, thoroughly confused. Shiraz shrugged.

  “The Intoxibella known the world over has refused to follow orders since she has returned to Modelland, so she has been ordered to repent by the chicest of the chic,” Persimmon said, pointing through the window to the BellaDonna statue. It seemed to be visible from every corner of Modelland. Then Persimmon yelled, “You may enter now!”

  The door flung open, and in walked Ci~L. She had on an outfit made of hundreds of copper- and brass-colored handcuffs. There was a frazzled, pained look on her face.

  No one seemed to know how to react. Shiraz clapped tentatively, and a few girls joined in. Zarpessa and Chaste scowled.

  “I don’t want her teaching me,” Zarpessa said to Chaste. “I’d rather see her tortured some more in the O.”

  Ci~L stood before the girls, her eyes lifeless. Then she spied Tookie’s small group in the corner. Her face slackened and her eyes bulged, and she became a different person altogether. Her hair began to whip around her face, caught up in its own private wind. Taking a deep breath, she began to speak.

  “A colorless girl in a colorless world,” she said. “Now stained crimson because of her quest.”

  It’s a new poem! Tookie thought. Ci~L’s spoken-word poems were famous, recited by girls all over the world—even Tookie had remembered them. Then she noticed Ci~L cut her eyes to Piper.

  “I’m stained crimson?” Piper whispered. “Is she talking about my Auntie Dottie?”

  “A microscopic lass below the criterion,” Ci~L went on. “Journey aborted, but soul cannot rest.”

  And then Ci~L looked at Shiraz.

  “She mean me?” Shiraz squeaked. “What she mean about my soul? I not dead!”

  Ci~L continued, now overwrought with emotion:

  “A Rubenesque damsel, surrounded by twigs

  Her lush carcass devoured, insects infest.”

  Dylan, who stood right next to Tookie, scoffed at Ci~L. “There better not be no bugs infestin’ me,” she sputtered.

  And then, finally, Ci~L shut her eyes and placed her thumb on her breast.

  “Their crony, elected exemplar of excellence,

  Has failed them, whose soul demons now do possess.”

  The room fell into a befuddled silence. Guru Gunnero seemed to be amused by Ci~L, a sly smile on his lips. Again Tookie thought of the violent moment the night before. The moaning, the chanting. Ci~L mutilating herself. The whacks. The Sorrysorrysorry! Ci~L’s haunting wail. Ci~L was acting so strange in the classroom now that Tookie began to believe that maybe she had truly seen the terror.

  Then Shiraz moved toward the window. “Look!”

  She was pointing at the BellaDonna statue. It had begun to blink and move its arms. Slowly, it lowered itself and peered into the Run-a-Way classroom window. Then a crackle filled the air. Suddenly, a bouquet of flowers protruded from Ci~L’s lips. Everyone screamed except for Gunnero, who looked quite pleased.

  Ci~L wrenched the flowers out of her mouth, but a large rosebush popped out next. She struggled to remove the bush, trying unsuccessfully to avoid the thorns. After that popped out a purple orchid plant, then a mess of daisies and dandelions, then a bunch of springy tulips, then ivy. It was a long magician’s scarf of flora, all of which Ci~L yanked from her mouth and tossed disdainfully to the floor. She sneezed and greenish petals shot out her nose.

  Gunn
ero sniggered. “Looks like the BellaDonna wants to pretty up that foul mouth of yours, Body Girl,” he said, eyeing Ci~L’s body up and down with disdain. Tookie wondered why he was calling her that. Even though Ci~L was still very striking, she wasn’t quite as thin as she had been months ago when she was the top Intoxibella.

  “All right, all right!” Ci~L yelled toward the window at the BellaDonna statue. “I’ll stop reciting poems! I’ll teach with Gunnero. I’ll do whatever you say! Just stop this!”

  The statue blinked placidly. Ci~L coughed, reached into her mouth, and yanked out a perfect miniature bonsai tree. She glowered at the BellaDonna statue. “I know what I did, okay? I know I was wrong. I will comply. I will obey. I will do what you ask of me.” This seemed to satisfy the BellaDonna, and she straightened up and resumed her position in the O.

  Gunnero cleared his throat, still not looking very happy that Ci~L was there. “Well, my little No-Sees,” he said, beginning a lecture. “You all possess Senturas, yes? But simply wearing them round your slinky little waists won’t do the trick alone. To bring forth the true power of the Sentura, one must retract one’s stomach, letting the Sentura’s majestic force soak into one’s soul.” He glared at Ci~L. “Show them, BG.”

  Dejectedly, Ci~L sucked her stomach in hard and closed her eyes. Her Sentura began to wave in its own wind.

  “MUSIQUE!” Gunnero cried. The overhead lights dimmed, and bass-heavy music began to boom.

  “MARCHEZ!” Guru Gunnero yelled even louder. On command, Ci~L began to parade up and down the runway, her legs fluid, her arms in perfect harmony. With lips pursed and hands on hips, Gunnero watched Ci~L walk back and forth. He looked to be mentally walking as well. His hips swayed a bit while his feet remained in place. It seemed to Tookie that the Guru was doing everything in his power to not jump on the runway and push Ci~L out of the way. His lips pursed even harder when Ci~L completed a triple spin.

  I guess Gurus can be jealous of Intoxibellas, Tookie thought.

  Ci~L disappeared behind a wall in the back of the room. She returned in less than two seconds, now in a stunning dress covered in teddy bears, complete with bear-claw-like platform heels. Everyone, even Chaste, gasped. Zarpessa eyed Ci~L like she hated her and wanted to be her at the same time. A private fashion show by Ci~L! Tookie thought. And she changed outfits so quickly! How?

  Tookie realized this was how Ci~L had been able to do every designer’s fashion show one season as the sole model. One hundred seventy-three fashion shows, probably over seven thousand clothing changes. But how? What was going on backstage that got her back out on the runway so fast?

  Disappearing once more, Ci~L reappeared in mere seconds in yet another outfit, a floor-length gown made of various types of chains and a tangle of edgy metal necklaces that glowed neon. One half of her hair was sheared in a pixie style; the other half was a long, curly bush. Mirrors on all sides of the room showed her every angle. Flashes from invisible cameras snapped as Ci~L paused and posed at the end of the runway. She did the same quick-change with four more outfits, the girls clapping with glee every time she emerged from the back room. But as she strutted to the end of the runway again, Tookie could see that whenever the clothing rubbed against the skin of her back, Ci~L did the most minute flinch.

  The last outfit she donned was a red polka-dotted jumpsuit with an attached hood and polka-dotted boots. A necklace made of cantaloupe-sized rouge-colored pearls draped from her neck to her knees. Then the music ceased. “Enough, you show-off!” Gunnero blared, looking jealous. Ci~L stopped in the middle of the runway. “Well?” Gunnero crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell them the secret.”

  Ci~L took a breath and faced the Bellas. “What you saw wasn’t real.”

  “Spiegels cambio!” Gunnero yelled.

  The mirrors on the walls folded in on themselves and transformed into a new kind of mirror that glowed from within. These mirrors played back Ci~L’s impromptu fashion show … with one critical difference.

  Instead of Ci~L gracefully walking down the aisle, as the girls had witnessed, she was now running. Her arms pumped. Her legs leapt. She dashed as if in pursuit of life-sustaining oxygen. The mirrors also transmitted what happened backstage. Instead of a room full of chaos and fashion show dressers, the space was empty. Clothes flew off Ci~L and disintegrated. New clothes appeared, and dozens of tiny hands pulled them over her head and down her body. Everything happened at a rapid pace, like a pit stop at a car race in the city of FiveHundred.

  Finally, the replay showed Ci~L exiting the backstage area in the red polka-dotted jumpsuit. Her poses at the end of the runway were lightning fast and merely split seconds long.

  “Fini!” Gunnero barked, and the mirrors went dark.

  All the girls looked dumbstruck.

  “So, No-Sees, you idiots all know that fashion shows appear calm, smooth, and orderly when spectators view them,” Gunnero explained. “And models appear to be dressed by human ‘dressers’ who aid and abet them into multiple outfits, one after the other. That’s just how everyone sees it—but it’s not how it really plays out. Your Senturas hold the power to hypnotize the audience, whether that’s in the fashion auditorium or watching a recording in the privacy of their own master bedrooms. It shows them what Modelland wants them to see. This is the most important class you will ever take at Modelland. For a clumsy No-See will never book a go-see.”

  Dylan jabbed Tookie in the ribs. “All the Gurus got some swelled-up heads, don’t you think? I ain’t never taken so many important classes in my life!” Tookie giggled.

  Shiraz raised her hand. “Why do you do the lying?”

  Gunnero smirked. “My pint-sized Lilliputian, why does a lady never let a man see her bare-faced, sans makeup? It ruins her glamour, her mystery. It makes her real. The more people know of our secrets, the less intriguing this place becomes. That’s why I’m the head of security, honey. I uphold the laws, the secrets, and the Run-a-Way.”

  “So how do you do it?” Tookie dared to ask.

  Ci~L raised her Sentura. “In order to make your running look like walking, you must have your Sentura somewhere on your body. It’s the only way.”

  Zarpessa took a step forward. “So I can be as fabulous as you, just because I’m wearing my Sentura? Out of my way, honey!”

  “Not so fast,” the Guru said. “It’s not simply enough to run at a super speed. The movements have to be super fast, elegant, precise, fluid, swanlike. Just because you may think you’re a swan don’t mean ya are one, dear.”

  Still, everyone leaned forward, eager to try. Only Tookie hung back, her stomach swirling like she was still trapped on the CaraCaraCara boat. How am I going to do this? I can’t even run down a hallway without tripping!

  “So, who’s going first?” Ci~L asked.

  “I will do the walking!” Shiraz cried, busting in front of even Zarpessa and Chaste.

  Narzz eyed her wearily. “Just go up and down the runway once. No ducking into the back room to change clothes. Got it?”

  “Yes, yes!” Shiraz had already started down the platform. The lights dimmed. She walked frantically, her face tense and tight. But when everyone looked into the mirrors, it showed what was really happening: Shiraz was running so fast that she was a blur. Her arms jutted awkwardly. Her hair flew straight back from her face. Every time she reached the end of the runway, she slid to a stop like a baseball player stealing home.

  Gunnero clapped his hand over his cement-colored eyes. “Girl, you looked like a squirrel stuck in the middle of a busy street, trying to avoid being crushed! Hell, if I had a car right now, I would make a point of running your li’l ass over!”

  The lights snapped on again, and Shiraz walked dejectedly off the runway. “But I do the running so fast,” she said to Tookie.

  Tookie just shrugged and squeezed Shiraz’s hand. “You’ll get better.”

  Then, as Shiraz peered across the room, her expression changed. “Ci~L been looking at me funny today. Like she the Labrian
evil spirit. Look!”

  Tookie looked up. Ci~L was staring intensely at Shiraz again. Tookie couldn’t tell if she was pleased or disgusted. As soon as Ci~L noticed the two of them staring back, she averted her eyes.

  Piper leaned toward them. “Ci~L’s making me really uneasy. What did we do wrong?”

  “Quiet, chattering, you wannabe-model monkeys!” Gunnero roared.

  Bo’s turn was next. On the runway, she looked like a walking zombie, her arms hanging heavy from their shoulder sockets. In the mirror, she ran with little energy, her face stuck in a dronelike expression.

  “Girl, you belong in Model-bland,” Gunnero joked.

  Desperada was supposed to go next, but she was still sobbing too hard. Ci~L looked annoyed. “What are you crying for? Do you want to be here or not?”

  Desperada just sniffled and didn’t answer.

  “Listen, there’s no way you can even try this until you stop crying,” Ci~L went on.

  Chaste went next instead. In the mirrors, she somehow made running look almost pornographic, shaking everything she shouldn’t. On the runway, she rubbed her body all over, gyrating to the beat like a dancer in an exotic nightclub.

  “I not old enough to look!” Shiraz yelped, closing her eyes.

  Gunnero groaned. “This is Modelland, not Striptown.” He waved Chaste off the runway, then looked at Tookie. “Get up here, Crazy Eyes. It’s your turn.”

  Tookie swallowed hard, her heart pounding. Her limbs felt tangled already. Everyone was staring at her, which made her cheeks feel hot. She got up on the runway and set off, trying to conjure up her graceful inner cat. Tookie De La Lion. She extended her leg in a long leap. Then another, then another. She raised her head and tried to remain as calm and composed as she could. I’m doing … okay! Even her Sentura felt like it was working! Her heart lifted, and her soul soared.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ci~L and the Bellas staring confusedly from the runway platform to the mirror. “Why are her performance and her reflection the same?” a cleft-chinned blonde named Kieran whispered.