Modelland

by Tyra Banks

  “No matter where he went, people would stop in their tracks when they saw him.”

  Sounds like Myrracle, Tookie thought.

  “Two years later, the conductor of the prestigious Philharmonic Orchestra spotted Deco and his parents at a music street festival. The composer convinced Deco’s parents to allow him to compose a whole symphony dedicated to Deco’s face.”

  “Really?” Tookie interrupted. “That’s just plain weird.”

  “I know. But just listen, okay?” Bravo pleaded. Tookie nodded.

  “On opening day,” Bravo continued, “Deco stood on the concert hall stage as the musicians stared at him. But he wasn’t miserable. ’Cause from where he stood, he had a perfect view of the entire hall. The swaying walls, the building’s undulating curves. He was transfixed by the scale and scope of the place and how, if given the chance, he would design it differently. He resketched and redesigned the space, all within the confines of his eight-years-young head.”

  Tookie pictured the young boy and softly smiled at the thought of him getting whatever pleasure he could from such an odd circumstance.

  “When Deco reached his teen years, the attention he received from the opposite sex was startling. One young lady actually fainted when she saw him on the first day of school. Deco wasn’t interested. He concentrated on his architectural career instead. He tried to sell his ideas to multiple architectural firms. They were always impressed with his skills, but his face stole the show and the conversations soon turned to the beauty of his visage, not his designs.

  “So what happens to a child whose true gift is ignored, forgotten, looked over? What becomes of a boy people don’t listen to, only stare at?”

  “I don’t know,” Tookie answered. “What happens to him?”

  “That was a rhetorical question, Tookie.” Bravo smiled. “Deco had been approached countless times to attend Bestosterone, but the very idea turned his stomach. One day he overheard a conversation between his heroes, two leading architects. The men spoke in hushed tones about the rumored gravity-defying, stupendous architecture and design of Modelland, and about how they were going to Pilgrim up the mountain to view it for themselves. Just one week later, Deco read a headline on the front page of his local newspaper about two missing architects. All that was found of them in the Diabolical Divide were their bloody, torn clothes and an architectural drafting kit. The media was stumped that two grown male architects had attempted to Pilgrim, a Modelland first. They speculated that the men had caught the first cases of the Pilgrim Plague for men. But only Deco knew the real reason for their fatal excursion.”

  “This is so intense,” Tookie whispered.

  “From that day forward, Deco became obsessed with the reason why his two favorite architects would risk their lives to see Modelland’s structures with their own eyes. Their obsession, even in their deaths, became Deco’s. But he wasn’t willing to risk his life for a viewing. His safe way up the mountain …?

  “Bestosterone,” Bravo and Tookie said at the same time.

  Bravo exhaled deeply, like a huge weight had lifted off his chest. Tookie touched his arm. “Hi, Deco.”

  “Hi, Tookie,” Bravo replied. His eyes were glassy, and Tookie wondered if he was holding back tears. “Thanks for listening.” Then he leaned toward her. “You have a hair that’s about to go in your eye. Let me get it.”

  Tookie remained very still. He licked his thumb and then brought it to her eyebrow, slowly smoothing the unruly hairs down as he smiled into her mismatched eyes.

  Tookie stared deeply into his caramel ones, and her knees felt like they would buckle. She sensed a gentle burning inside her stomach, and her hips felt like they were being tickled, even though Bravo’s hands were nowhere near them.

  Bravo put his hand on the side of Tookie’s face. The warmth from it felt like sweet tea pouring into her mouth. He whispered straight into her ear, his lips brushing against her earlobe.

  “I really like this, Tookie. It feels … right. I know I have to get out of here before you get in trouble, but … I don’t want to leave.”

  His words felt like maple syrup coursing through her veins. “And I don’t want you to,” she replied. “You make me feel …” A single tear fell from her brown eye. “… like … like a … Rememba-Girl.”

  “Really? A remember girl? What’s that?”

  “What I have always wanted to be. Someone … beautiful.”

  “You are beautiful. On the inside and the outside.”

  Tookie wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

  “You really are, Tookie. Beautiful. In a special, unique way. You’re so different, and you deserve someone who will treat you like the unique princess you are. And that’s me. Tookie, I don’t want anybody else to have you. I guess you can say I’m selfish. I want you all to myself. Your first time should be special and tender. And it should be with me.”

  “That’s awfully bold of you!” Tookie pulled away from him. “I’m just getting to know you! You’re claiming my first time already?”

  “Yes, Tookie. Your first time. Your first … kiss.”

  “Ohhhhh … sorry.”

  Tookie’s cheeks flushed. Her mind spun. He wants to be my first! ME? The expando-mode six-headed Forgetta-Girl? Is he sight-impaired? But he’s looking right at me. CLOSE UP! Oh God, I promised myself to Theophilus. Have you no loyalty, Tookie?

  Then Tookie calmed down. “You can be my first.”

  Bravo ducked his head. “I feel like a charity case.”

  “No, no, no … I didn’t mean it like that. How’s this: I want you to be my first.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “And what about the being-my-girlfriend part? Being my, ummm … my lady.”

  Tookie couldn’t believe her ears. “Yes to that part too.”

  “For real?”

  “For real, Bravo.”

  They fell silent for a moment. Tookie ducked her head. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I can’t wait to lose my … lip virginity to you.”

  He smiled his luscious crooked smile. “Have you ever thought about what your first kiss might be like?”

  Tookie’s heart stopped. Only a million times, she was tempted to say. “I guess so,” she said instead, trying to sound nonchalant. “But I’ve always wondered—will people know, afterwards? Will they be able to tell that I’ve done it?”

  “Well, maybe not.” Bravo smiled. “But you’ll know.”

  “And … will it … feel weird?”

  “I hope it will feel amazing,” Bravo said. “And I know the perfect place our first kiss can happen.”

  Our first kiss. That sounded so good. “Where?” Tookie whispered.

  “I’ll sweep you away, where no one at Modelland can see us,” Bravo said. “We’ll go on a magical ride down a secret ZipZap that we hid under the new 7Seven stadium and land in the most beautiful fountain in LaDorno.”

  Tookie tried her hardest to keep her face tempered and non-reactive, but inside, her stomach twisted. Bravo knew where the emergency exit to LaDorno was hidden?

  “I can make it happen after ManAttack tomorrow.”

  “Wait.” Tookie frowned. “A ManAttack? When?”

  Bravo looked caught. “Bestosteros aren’t supposed to tell any Bellas about the ManAttack challenge before it happens, but you’re my lady now, so I don’t think there’s any harm. It’s happening tomorrow. It’s a big challenge. For us, it’s to measure Bestostero Intoxibello potential.

  “Only a few of us every five years or so have Intoxibello powers,” Bravo said. “The ManAttack is an early indication in determining which of us boys just might have the magic touch. It’s ridiculous, if you ask me, but if participating allows me to build more Modelland buildings and to be around you every day, sign me up!” Then he moved closer. “You’re one of the competitors, Tookie. But all Bellas and Bestosteros are going to watch.”

  Tookie’s heart pounded harder and harder. You’re one of
the competitors. All Bellas watch. A secret ZipZap. Through the 7Seven stadium …

  This was the Unicas’ chance—maybe their only chance.

  Tookie cleared her throat. “Um, Bravo. Can you show me where that secret ZipZap is?”

  He blinked innocently. “Before we go tomorrow? Why?”

  Tookie swallowed hard. She couldn’t look him in the eyes and blatantly lie, so she stared at his chipped nails instead. “I, um … I’d love to see the thing that will, um … lead us to our first kiss.” The words came out in a messy jumble. Tookie was almost certain Bravo could smell the guilt wafting off her skin.

  But he smiled brightly. “Of course, Tookie. I’ll show you the ZipZap tonight.” He gave her a warm smile, which just made her feel worse.

  Too much worse. She couldn’t do this to him. “Uh, Bravo?” she said, peeking at his eyes. “There’s something I have to tell you.” She had to tell Bravo the truth, even if he wouldn’t like it. He’d just poured his heart out to her; he deserved honesty in return.

  “What is it?” Bravo asked gently.

  Tookie breathed in. “It’s about me and my friends. We’re—”

  “What in the hell is a Bestostero doing in here?” a voice boomed through the door, interrupting them. Suddenly, Ci~L appeared. The Unicas tumbled in after her. Ci~L’s eyes were on Bravo, and her face was bright red. “Get out!” she screamed at him. Then she glared at Tookie. “Do you know what happens to girls like you who break the rules? Do you know how much I want to kill you right now?”

  Ci~L raised her arms in the air and fabric covered in fire shot from her fingertips. Everyone screamed. Ci~L advanced toward Tookie and Bravo, her shape shifting and twisting with the power of Chameeleoné. Her face morphed from a mixture of Gunnero’s and Applaussez’s to a gory combination of Chaste’s and Zarpessa’s. It then shifted to a mishmash of Dylan’s, Piper’s, Shiraz’s, and Tookie’s faces, her skin melting, her tendons popping, her eyes blazing bloody red. Steam puffed from her nostrils. She bared sharpened teeth and extended her hands toward them, her razorblade claws extended.

  The girls backed into a corner. They held on to one another for dear life. Shiraz started praying in Labrian. Dylan began reciting all of her brothers’ and sisters’ names, saying “Goodbye, I love you” after each name, and then she fainted. Piper closed her eyes and leaned her head back as if she had accepted her fate and just wanted whatever pain was approaching to be over quickly.

  This is it, Tookie thought. She’s going to kill us all now!

  “Ci~L!” a voice screamed behind them. Persimmon stood in the doorway, her mouth in a tight line. “What in BellaDonna’s name are you doing?” She grabbed the Intoxibella’s arm and dragged her out of the room. As she was being pulled away, Ci~L glanced over her shoulder at the girls. When she shook her finger at them, her nails were still long and pointy talons. “I should just burn you alive,” she hissed.

  Over my dead body, Tookie thought.

  36

  ALL HAIL QUEEN CREAMY

  “Are we there yet, Creamy?”

  “Not yet, Myrracle,” Mrs. De La Crème answered wearily. “Just lie back and relax, okay?”

  “It’s hard to relax when I stink so bad.”

  “I know.”

  The De La Crème women did smell; all the Pilgrims smelled like a Peppertown sewer on its foulest of days. The body odor had gotten worse because of the intense physical labor they had all endured recently. Creamy had created her own mountain monarchy after the group had elevated her to the position of secret weapon to get them to Modelland. And Creamy, never known to let an opportunity wither, had leveraged that status to be elevated, quite literally: she had ordered the Pilgrims to fashion a double sedan chair from scraps found on the Divide. Which they did. To carry the De La Crèmes up the mountain. Which they were doing. It was a small price to pay for Creamy’s brave confrontation with the pond monster, after all.

  “Remind me why are we hauling Queeny and Dope-ical?” Lynne complained while trudging up a steep incline, the post from the thronelike chair digging into her shoulder.

  “Break requested, Creamy!” Kamata yelled.

  Creamy jutted her mud-caked chin in the air. “Request … approved.”

  As they lowered the women to the ground, Creamy gazed up the mountain. The peak still seemed so far away.

  But ahead of them, the scenery changed radically. A lush garden of flowers no one in the group could identify greeted them. The aroma of the buds was almost overpowering—strong citrus that stung their nostrils and a sweet aroma of honey that made their eyes water. Myrracle twirled around the floral bushes and deeply inhaled their scent.

  “Yum, Creamy. They all smell so good. I wanna pick boo-tays of them!” she trilled, kicking her leg up, smacking it into her ear.

  “Bouquets, sweetie. You want to pick bouquets,” Creamy said tiredly.

  Suddenly, a haunting, keening sound snaked around the group.

  Lynne froze. “It sounds like a woman moaning in pain!”

  “Look there!” Abigail said. She pointed her hairy arm toward a small, well-tended cemetery made up of six old polished-marble tombstones with elaborate engravings.

  Creamy marched up to the headstones and stared at the markers: MUSE MELODIA, MUSE PRANCIA, MUSE CHROMIA, MUSE DRAMATIA, MUSE FABRICIA, and MUSE CHITECTIA.

  “Wow … who were they?” Lynne whispered, leaning closer to touch one of the stones.

  At her touch, the headstone glowed a golden yellow. The burial ground began to pulse. Kamata pulled his shank spear from his knapsack and crouched into a defensive position. Then came the sound of hundreds of pitter-pattering feet.

  “Defensive mode!” Creamy ordered.

  Harriet, Lynne, and Hunchy jumped in front of Myrracle and Creamy as if guarding treasure.

  The tombstones began to emit angry sparks. A primal scream rang out. But it wasn’t coming from the tombstones. It was Abigail. She was looking up the mountain, toward Modelland.

  “I have taken your crap for too long!” Abigail screamed. “But I have had it up to here! I should have known you wouldn’t help me change the world. To spread the word about how beautiful a hairy body can be. And now I … have … had … enough!”

  Harriet ran over to Abigail and tried to soothe her, but Abigail scuttled toward the rocks and picked up something shiny and metal. It looked like a dagger. “What are you doing, baby?” her mother asked.

  From the look in Abigail’s eyes, it was clear she couldn’t hear her mother. Her mind had gone elsewhere. Abigail yanked at her soiled clothing, pulling everything off. She stood before the Pilgrims stark naked. She gripped the shiny dagger.

  “Abby, baby,” Harriet pleaded. “Please don’t hurt yourself. We can change the world. Get them to accept our kind.”

  Abigail brought the knife to her chest. “Noooo!” Harriet screamed. But instead of impaling her body with the weapon, Abigail began to scrape her body with it. A tuft of her thick underarm hair tumbled to the ground. With lightning speed, Abigail shaved her sideburns, her arms, her most private of parts, and then her legs. She finished by removing all the knee-length black hair from her head. Every trace of her hair, eyebrows included, was gone and lay in clumps at her feet.

  “Why?” Harriet wailed. She could barely stand; Lynne held her upright.

  “Mom, I am giving it all, minus the portions deemed inappropriate, to Hair for PitterPatter,” Abigail said calmly.

  Now that she was completely without hair, the group could see the Abigail who had been hiding all along.

  “Preee-teee …,” Hunchy slobbered, ogling Abigail.

  The organ eater was wrong, though. Abigail was not simply pretty. She was out-of-this-world, breathtakingly beautiful—absolutely, undeniably, soul-stirringly stunning. Kamata smiled at her for the first time since the journey had begun. Creamy’s expression, however, was the polar opposite of those of the rest of the crew. With Jessamine out of the way, Myrracle had become the most stunning girl in t
he group. But now, with countless flicks of a makeshift razor, that was no longer the case. Creamy shot Abigail a jealous look of death.

  As the group continued to stare, the air filled with the sound of feet flitting toward them, and in the distance, the source of the noise appeared. It was a spiderlike creature three times the size of a Peppertown city bus. But instead of eight legs, this creature had thousands. And the legs looked … human. They stuck out of the creature’s body like the spikes of a porcupine. When the monster reared up, it revealed a soft, fleshy underbelly. There was an immense leech’s sucker in the middle. Tiny but numerous sharp, toenail-shaped teeth rimmed the opening.

  “Oh my,” Creamy said, showing a hint of fear for the very first time. “It’s some sort of Leg Leech.”

  Abigail screamed.

  “We should run!” Harriet screamed.

  Hunchy howled.

  Strangely, Lynne heckled the monster. “I should have dragged my cheating husband up here! He is a leg man, after all. He would love you! And the leggy ones always want to take your husband!”

  The Leg Leech glared at the group. Then it extended two of the legs on its body so that they stuck out farther than the multitudes of others, and clicked them together.

  “What’s it doing?” Kamata whimpered, standing behind Creamy for protection.

  “It’s snapping its leg-fingers!” cried Myrracle, and she started snapping in the same rhythm the creature was. The creature seemed almost delighted with Myrracle. It turned to the others, and they all started snapping too. Finally, the creature looked at Lynne, who wasn’t snapping. It waited.

  “Huh?” Lynne looked confused.

  “Hurry up!” shouted Myrracle. “Snap your fingers like me, Lynne!”

  Lynne began snapping with her right hand to the rhythm of the Leg Leech’s head-bopping beat. The creature seemed pleased, and motioned for Myrracle and Lynne to join in with both hands. Myrracle complied, snapping double time while doing her signature high kicks. But Lynne just could not double-snap to perfection, given that she had lost her left hand’s middle finger weeks before. Harriet stopped snapping and walked over to Lynne to help her out.