Modelland

by Tyra Banks

  “Thank you,” Tookie whispered to Ci~L, dipping into a respectful curtsy.

  Ci~L snickered. “Oh, get up. There’s not gonna be any of that idiotic kowtowing during my reign.” She looked at Narzz. “And you. If you have a problem with treating Tookie with the respect she deserves, you can kiss my big fat Princess BellaDonna ass!”

  Gunnero just stared in shock.

  “And speaking of kissing, I want you, Mr. Narzz, to bow down right now to Miss Tookie and kiss her feet.”

  Narzz blinked hard. “What?”

  “That’s right.” Ci~L placed her hands on her hips. “I’m the Princess BellaDonna, baby. The head bee-yotch in charge. And from now on, you will do Whatever. I. Say.”

  Reluctantly, Gunnero took mincing steps up to Tookie. He fell to his knees, puckered his lips, and kissed Tookie’s shoes, which were still soiled with Ugly Room crud.

  And Tookie had to admit it felt pretty damn good.

  47

  LA LENGUA

  Tookie emerged from the M building and started back toward the D, still numb with shock. Had it really happened? Was Ci~L truly the new Princess BellaDonna? Had Gunnero honestly kissed Tookie’s dirty, oversized feet as though she were the Queen of Gowdee?

  Pure, unfiltered happiness filled her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She couldn’t wait to tell the Unicas what had happened. She could just picture Dylan almost fainting from glee, Shiraz doing a victory dance, and Piper smiling, hypothesizing how Modelland’s conditions would improve under Ci~L’s rule. The whole world around Tookie glistened as though it had been scrubbed clean. Many girls along Tookie’s walk were still distraught, and some hysterical, over the abrupt ending of the 7Seven Tournament. Only Kamalini walked among the crowd unscathed and unbothered, bopping to her Headbangor. Tookie wanted to throw her arms around the girl—if Kamalini hadn’t told her to run into the O on the first day there, Tookie might not be at Modelland today. But Kamalini was too far away. Tookie would have to thank her later.

  Tookie was overflowing with delight and practically skipped down the path toward the D entrance. A rustling sound in the bushes made her stop short.

  Zarpessa stepped out from behind the bushes, eyeing Tookie dangerously. Tookie froze, her euphoria suddenly fading away. She wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation. “Look, Zarpessa, for the last time, I didn’t tell anyone your secret, okay?”

  “I know,” Zarpessa said.

  Tookie blinked hard. “You … do?”

  Zarpessa thrust her chin into the air. “I went back to the FEDS and asked some questions. Dr. Erica told me everything that happened the night I … you know. She told me she asked around, seeing if anyone knew anything about my history, and no one did. Not even you.” Her eyebrows arched. “Why didn’t you tell? I mean, I would have, if I were you. Survival of the fittest.”

  “First you want me to keep it a secret, now you want me to tell?” Tookie threw up her hands in confusion. “Whatever happened to you is your business. But your harsh reality is still no excuse to be evil, Zarpessa. This is a place for all of us to start fresh. To forget what happened in our previous lives.”

  Zarpessa leaned back and examined Tookie in full, perhaps really looking at her for the first time. “Well, I guess this is where I say … I don’t know … thank you?” she said begrudgingly. “But if you think we’re going to, like, bond now, you’re sorely mistaken. I don’t need a shoulder to cry on about my crappy family. Certainly not your scraggy-ass shoulder.”

  “Whatever, Zarpessa.” Tookie shrugged, mad at herself for even thinking Zarpessa had changed.

  Then Zarpessa stepped forward and stuck her finger in Tookie’s face. “And what was all that in the OrbArena about my Theophilus?”

  Tookie blinked. She’d forgotten what she’d said about Theophilus in the heat of the moment. “I just wanted to make Bravo jealous,” she said in a small voice. There was no way she could get into the Theophilus argument with Zarpessa now. “His was the first name I thought of.”

  This seemed to satisfy Zarpessa, and she placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t ever think Theophilus would be into you, you Unfortunate-Looking, big-headed, crazy-eyed, forgettable bitch. Stay away from him … and from me too. Because if you ever tell, I’ll make your life a living hell. Worse than the hell I live in back home.”

  Tookie shrank back, her eyes wide. But even though she was trembling inside, she mustered a smile. “You’re welcome, Zarpessa,” she said as the girl walked away.

  Tookie slumped down on a bench for a moment, trying to shake off Zarpessa’s hatred. She heard the bushes rustle again and jumped up, prepared for the Wrath of Zarpessa, Round Two. Webb, Alexander, and O’Neil appeared from the bushes, surrounding her.

  A knife of fear sliced through Tookie’s chest. All she could think of was the lewd things Bravo’s friends had probably said to him when the four of them had hatched the bet about Tookie. She rolled her shoulders back and tried to push past them. “Excuse me,” she said tightly. I’m better than they are, she chanted again and again in her head. Ci~L, the Princess BellaDonna, thinks so.

  “Tookie, wait,” Webb said, grabbing Tookie’s hand. And in a split second, all three boys stripped off their uniform shirts, revealing tan, mahogany, and golden skin and sharply defined pectoral and abdominal muscles.

  Tookie recoiled and turned away. Now they were stripping for her? Did they want a piece of her too? “I’m not everyone’s bet!” she shrieked. “Leave me the hell alone!”

  But then she noticed there was something written on their chests in goopy red paint.

  Tookie, Webb’s chest said.

  I’m So, Alexander’s said.

  And O’Neil’s said Sorry.

  Tookie read the words, frowning. She was seething. Was this some kind of joke?

  She was about to turn away once more when the three boys jumped in unison, now showing her their backs. More words, in the same red script, were scrawled across their broad back muscles:

  It Was

  Never

  A Bet.

  “Yeah, right,” Tookie sputtered. But when the boys turned back around, their expressions were plaintive and repentant, not teasing and disrespectful. From behind, someone grabbed Tookie’s shoulder, and she turned to find …

  Bravo. In a perfectly fitted velvet tuxedo.

  “Thanks, y’all,” Bravo said, slapping his friends’ hands. “I owe you big-time.” The three boys pulled on their shirts, gave Tookie a polite nod, and disappeared down the path, leaving Tookie and Bravo alone.

  Tookie stared at him, still not sure if this was a joke. Bravo approached her. “So …,” he said nervously, “you’re back.”

  “That’s right,” she said stubbornly.

  There was a long silence. Finally, Bravo met her eyes. “What they wrote on their chests is true, Tookie. There was never a bet, I swear. I only told you that because I was mad you were leaving and I thought you used me. I opened myself up to you and I felt all vulnerable. Telling you that stuff gave you a lot of control over me. And then I regretted telling you when you said you were leaving, and I stooped really low and tried to hurt you more than I was hurting. I’m so sorry.” He shifted his feet on the path. “But Tookie, I’ve never met anyone like you. I didn’t want you to go. The architecture suddenly wasn’t enough for me to want to stay here without you.” Then he chuckled lightly. “I wanted to write Tookie, you’re the most amazing girl I have ever laid eyes on, I can’t decide which to love more, your green eye or your brown eye, but there wasn’t enough room on everyone’s chests. Believe me, we tried.”

  Tookie stared at him, her resolve crumbling a little. All at once, it made sense: The tuxedo. The writing on the chests. It was exactly what she’d told him she wanted during the ManAttack. All those crazy things she’d come up with … and he was executing them, one by one.

  Then Bravo took her hand. “I want to show you something.”

  He started to pull Tookie across the O. They s
topped at a garden Tookie had never seen before, right on the border between Modelland and Bestosterone. It was filled with the most beautiful golden-yellow fabric flowers she’d ever seen, and they went on for a mile. “I just planted these today,” Bravo said. “As soon as I saw you’d come back, me and my boys got on the job.”

  “You planted this … for me?” Tookie whispered, thinking again of her crazy first-kiss wish.

  Bravo nodded. “Okay, confession time. We used special Modelland multiplying seeds.” Then he grabbed Tookie’s hands and began to sing a strange little tune slightly off-key.

  “Oh, Tookie, Tookie, Tookie, I love you more than

  Architecture and Lauro’s oatmeal cookies.

  Went to the FEDS ’cause my heart was failin’,

  The purse said, ‘No, Bravo, De La Crème’s got your pulse sailin’.”

  Tookie was trying with all her might to hold in her laughter. “You sound really bad, Bravo. You don’t have to sing for me.”

  “This is what you wanted. And you deserve to get what you want.”

  “But you should be pissed at me,” Tookie said. “Because I hit you. Because I left from our ZipZap. Because of … Theophilus?”

  “But you came back,” Bravo said. “And Theophilus … well …”

  “Theophilus isn’t my boyfriend,” Tookie blurted out. “He’s Zarpessa’s, actually. I was kinda obsessed with him, but … nothing ever happened.”

  Bravo nodded, looking relieved. Then he continued his song.

  “Oh, Tookie, I never wagered your lip nookie.

  In your eyes is the only place I wanna lookie.

  You’ve taught me ’bout loving and giving, I was a rookie.

  You’re so pure and sweet. And now I’m hookie

  On Tookieeeeee.”

  Bravo then did a spin and tried to drop down in a half split but almost fell over.

  Tookie covered her eyes. “Stop it,” she said bashfully. But in truth, she kind of liked this. A lot.

  Bravo lowered his face to hers. “I still wanna be your first, Tookie.”

  Tookie’s blinked hard. Oh my God …

  “Your special first,” Bravo went on. He moved an inch closer and cradled her face in his hands. “Your only first.”

  Tookie shut her eyes. This was happening.

  “How privileged I would be if you said yes,” Bravo whispered, his lips puckered just so, looking extremely lush and bitable. “Will you?”

  Tookie swallowed hard. In the distance, a couple of birds sang to one another. A peal of laughter rang from the O, but it all sounded very far away. “Privileged? For real?”

  Bravo squeezed her hands. “For real, for real. Will you say yes?”

  She could feel his breath on her face. Her heart rocketed in her ears. “Yes. But wait.”

  Bravo leaned back, staring at her.

  “I have a story for you, just like the story you told me,” Tookie said. “Once upon a time, there was this girl named … Tookalatta.”

  “Tookalatta?” Bravo said, amused.

  “Shhh. Just go with it, ’kay? So anyway, nobody saw her—ever. She would lie on the floor of her school, waiting for someone to trip over her or kick her or anything, but no one ever did. It was like she was a piece of trash. Defective. Uncoordinated, unattractive, and unmemorable.”

  Tookie cleared her throat, her skin prickling. “Tookalatta wanted love,” she went on. “She wanted affection. She wanted it so badly she collected a random item from a boy she liked.” She touched the T O OKE pin under her flower. After a moment, she reached under the brooch, removed the pin, leaving the flower brooch where it was, and held the pin in her hand. Bravo looked at it, but didn’t say anything. “And she practiced kissing that boy in her mirror when she thought she was alone,” Tookie went on, twisting her mouth at the memory of how Myrracle had once caught her. “Tookalata was convinced that all she’d ever kiss for the rest of her life was a mirror. She was a Forgetta-Girl. A girl no one would ever want to kiss. A girl someone might bet on. Make fun of. Shun. Ignore.”

  “And how does the story end?” Bravo said, squeezing her hand. “Does Tookalatta live a miserable life, alone, afraid, not allowing herself to open up to anyone, running away? Or does she take a risk and realize that someone does want her—really wants her? And really loves her.”

  Tookie bit her lip, staring at the grass. “The second option,” she whispered.

  Bravo poked her playfully. “Hi, Tookalatta.”

  Tookie giggled, then looked up. “Hi, Deco,” she said in a small, shy voice.

  “Hi, Tookie,” Bravo said, staring into Tookie’s eyes.

  “Hi, Bravo.”

  And then Bravo kissed her forehead. Then her cheeks. And then her nose. He sucked on her earlobe, sending a jolt of warmth all over her body, followed by an intense feeling of pleasure she’d never experienced before. Her back arched at his slightest touch. Tingles danced from the crown of her head down to her abdomen. She clenched her muscles, then let go. And then, at the same time, they both licked their own thumbs and smoothed the other’s eyebrows.

  “Close your eyes,” Bravo said, and Tookie did as she was told. She heard the sound of a whipped cream can shaking and instinctively opened her mouth just in time for Bravo to shoot a cold stream of whip onto her tongue. The tingles continued down to her hips. She then heard Bravo squirt some cream into his own mouth. And then … slowly, gently, Bravo’s soft lips touched hers. His lips parted and she felt something thick and slimy inside of her mouth. His tongue.

  She pulled away, wide-eyed. “Uh … I don’t like kissing that way.”

  Bravo looked surprised. “But you’ve never kissed before.”

  “I know I haven’t, but … my mirror didn’t have a tongue,” Tookie said, smiling, tracing her finger across Bravo’s cheek. “It just … feels weird. And this is about what I want, right?”

  Bravo nodded, pulling his body slightly away from hers. “We can go as slow as you want, Tookie. You will set our pace … always.”

  And then he kissed her again, parting his lips only a little, his tongue remaining inside his mouth. He bit slightly on her bottom lip. Tookie grabbed on to the back of his neck, her body feeling hot and alive. They remained like that for a long, long time. And when they pulled back, they stared at each other as only two people who are enchanted with one another can do. A single tear fell from Tookie’s brown eye. Bravo brought his lips to the wetness and kissed it tenderly. Modelland was bathed in joyful golden light. The corners of Tookie’s lips felt like they might split from smiling. She wanted to prolong this moment for as long as she lived.

  “Can we do it again?” she whispered.

  And as they continued to kiss, Tookie opened her palm and let the defective, purloined T O OKE button fall to the grass.

  She didn’t need it anymore.

  DO 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.