Modelland

by Tyra Banks

  “Isn’t the view amazing?” a voice said. Tookie turned, and there was Ci~L, wrapped in a gauzy jumpsuit with batwing sleeves. “I guess I’ll get to see it all the time now.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Tookie agreed. Earlier that evening, a note had been slipped under her door:

  Tookie,

  Meet me tonite at the south point of the M.

  Princess BellaDonna (Can you flippin’ believe it? I can’t!)

  Fierce & Love, Ci~L

  Ci~L, who had not announced her reign to the Bellas yet—the Bored was still debating the most opportune time to do so—had given Tookie a special permit to get into the M building without setting off any alarms. Tookie had passed a few guards on her way up, but they’d just nodded at her like she was someone special.

  Maybe she was.

  Now Ci~L glanced at the large statue of the BellaDonna. It was covered with an enormous dropcloth. Next to it, a new statue was ensconced with scaffolding. Sculptors toiled away, carving the rock. Tookie knew this new statue would be of Ci~L. Princess BellaDonna of Modelland.

  “This is all so freaky,” Ci~L whispered. “It’s kinda weirding me out.”

  Tookie looked at her. “What do you think will happen to … her? The old BellaDonna? Your …” She trailed off, unable to say mother. “Will she stay in the Ugly Room?”

  “I may be the Princess BellaDonna, but that’s not for me to decide,” Ci~L answered, great sadness in her voice. “The Bored makes that decision based on a volume of rules and bylaws taller than you and thicker than me. I just hope they aren’t too harsh on her. Yeah, she may have committed a crime, and she certainly did something insane that changed my childhood forever, but she’s still my …” She bit her lip, unable to say mother either.

  Then Ci~L looked out over the great expanse of the Land. “You’ve been at Modelland a whole year, Tookie. I spoke with the Bored. Despite your crazy mama’s trespassing and the whole T-DOD switcheroo thingy, unfortunately, you’re stuck here at Modelland.” She winked at Tookie. “Yep, girl, they want you here. Well, most of us do.”

  “Really?” Tookie breathed out, her body filling with elation and relief.

  Ci~L waved a finger at Tookie, her face stern. “But don’t be putting ya celebration shoes on just yet. Applaussez still thinks you’re a seamstress. Plus, when I was here, second year was crazy hard. Shoot, they’re easy on you No-See Bellas.”

  “This year was easy?” Tookie sputtered in disbelief.

  Ci~L nodded, moonlight dancing on her face. “But from here on out, it gets insane. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a new Triple7 sheriff in town, but I don’t know exactly how I’ll be changing things around here. I do know I’ma do things Ci~L–style, minus the crazy and spooky parts. And shoot, maybe I’ll throw in some posing poetry slams and oh my God, who knows what else. But what I do know is that I wanna make this a place where girls like my sister-friends could have come.” Her eyes watered with tears. “But that’ll be an uphill battle with the Bored,” she said, wiping her tears away. Then she looked at Tookie. “But mark my words, your segunda year will be like hell … in heaven. Think you can handle that? Plus a uniform change from green to violet?”

  Tookie nodded shakily. “I want to try. I … I love it here. I feel like I almost belong.”

  “Because you do, girl.” Ci~L’s gaze was intense. “Look, Tookie, you’ve been underestimated your entire life, including here. The wind is in your face, it’s blowin’ harder than GustGape, and it ain’t dying down anytime soon. But that’s actually a good thing, because when people have low expectations, you’re just constantly going, ‘Ta-dah!’ And they’re like, ‘Wow, I had no idea!’ It doesn’t take a lot to wow them when they don’t expect much from you. You’ve got to go for your destiny now—that’s how I became a Triple7, girl. Dream big—bigger than you ever have, so big that people laugh in your face. You need to grab on to the handlebars of fierceness and not let go. Because you’re special, Tookie. You might not know it yet, but you’ve got a beautiful light that shines inside of you.”

  Tookie’s jaw dropped. “Someone else told me that exact same thing once,” she whispered, remembering Wingtip’s uplifting words from a year ago. It made sense that Ci~L had nearly echoed him: Wingtip—Ray Faye—was her father, after all.

  Tookie breathed in, wanting to tell Ci~L something about her dad—that he was warm and tender, that he would have cared for her dearly, and that maybe he’d descended into melancholy because he’d lost her forever. Then Ci~L touched her arm. “Wanna fly with me?”

  Tookie frowned. “Like on T-DOD? Like when you brought us back from LaDorno?”

  Ci~L shook her head. “Naw, girl. Been there, done that. Outside the pouch.” She lowered her chin, and her batwing outfit disappeared and a thousand glittering necklaces appeared all over her body. It was the same outfit she had worn on T-DOD. One of the necklaces stretched out like a tentacle and looped over Tookie’s head. A warm light glowed. Tookie’s nightgown lit up, revealing hundreds of strands of bejeweled necklaces.

  Tookie gasped. Ci~L grinned. “Girl, if you want to fly with me, you gotta look fly. You dropped something after ManAttack. Thought you’d like it back.” Ci~L placed her hands over Tookie’s face.

  An incredible, familiar feeling swept over Tookie. The SMIZE! This time she recognized the energy that pulsed through her, and just like before, power zipped through her veins.

  Feelings like waves of intense ecstasy crashed into her, surrounding her with the most magnificent smells and tastes and sounds ever heard.

  She felt tantalizing. Luminescent. Invincible.

  Drop-dead … beautiful.

  “Ready?” Ci~L reached out her hand to Tookie just as she had when they’d stood atop the car in LaDorno Square. Tookie grabbed it tight. She wasn’t afraid this time, though—she was excited. She gripped Ci~L’s hand with pride and conviction.

  “Now climb on my back,” Ci~L instructed.

  And as they took off into the sky, Tookie thought about how much she’d changed since the day Ci~L had plucked her from her family in LaDorno on the Day of Discovery a year before. She was a different person now—confident, nervy. A friend who had friendSSSS. A leader. Suddenly, as the wind whipped through her multitextured hair, she thought of the letter she’d composed a few hours ago in her T-Mail Jail. The sentences flowed fluidly in her mind, just as they had done when she’d written them down on paper.

  This journey hasn’t been easy for me. Every step of the way I’ve struggled, stumbled, doubted, cursed, and felt sure that I couldn’t go on. But I feel stronger because of it, almost like I needed to go through it to get where I am now. I still don’t know if Modelland is my place or if I’m meant for something else. Maybe I’ll always doubt. But maybe it’s the doubt that keeps me determined. Hungry. Always looking to prove and improve myself, make myself better.

  Every night, as I lie in my Lumièe-less bed, I wonder how many other girls there are like me out there around the world.

  Maybe, like me, your father abandoned you, or perhaps you never even knew him. Maybe your mom’s a terror or you have no friends. Maybe you’re not the best-loved or best-looking daughter. Maybe someone hurt you but you’re too nervous to tell anyone. Maybe you hurt yourself and want to stop but don’t know how. Maybe you give of your body freely, hoping to get love in return. Or maybe you look at everyone else’s bodies and then compare them to and detest your own. Maybe people hurl angry, hurtful words at you, making you want to curl up and disappear. Maybe you hate your reflection, or everyone thinks you’re the prettiest but you still feel ugly inside. Maybe you’re under intense pressure that you think you can never overcome. Maybe someone tells you daily that you aren’t smart or pretty or skinny or talented or good enough.

  I know what you are going through. I’ve made a difficult journey to get here, and I have a lot farther to go. I must fight for my place every single day. It’s easy to shine when everything is perfect. But when things are a little shaky, the b
est truly emerge to show it won’t tear them down. That’s when the struggle to succeed really starts. I pray you find that strength inside of you, that special inner light that shines extra-bright.

  I want to dedicate my struggle and all my time at Modelland to you. Everything I’ve gone through, everything I’ll continue to face, is all for you. And I want you to make me a promise: take all your pain, take all the hurt you’re feeling and your bad memories and your darkest thoughts, and send it out to the universe … to me. I’ll be your vessel. I’ll carry all of the hurt inside me so that you can be free. And every challenge I go through at Modelland will be for me and you. For us. We can do this. But I’m going to need you too. When I feel weak, scared, or like I want to give up, I need you to send your strength and power up to me on this mountain. I can’t make it through this place alone. Okay? Promise?

  I believe in you with all my heart—and I hope you believe in me. I just want us to get to the place where we believe in ourselves just as strongly. And besides, there’s always room for you in the exclusive Unicas crew.

  Fierce & Love,

  Tookie and Ci~L swept through the sky, circling within the Modelland borders. Suddenly, something invisible tugged at Ci~L’s body, pulling her toward the mysterious cemetery within the Diabolical Divide. Ci~L glanced back at Tookie. “I’m getting the sensation that I’m about to teleportal,” she yelled over the rushing air.

  “Teleportal where?” Tookie yelled back, confused.

  “I don’t know,” Ci~L answered. “Sometimes this happens—the universe tells me to teleportal, and even though I don’t know where I’m going, I just go with it.” She gestured to the six silvery gravestones directly below them. “If you let go of my hand, you’ll float gently back to Modelland. You don’t have to come with me. I don’t know what we’re in for.”

  Just months ago, Tookie would have dropped Ci~L’s hand in an instant, too afraid to face the unknown. But now, the idea intrigued her. It would be an adventure. An experience. Better yet, an experiment.

  She clutched Ci~L’s hand hard. “I wanna go with you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Hells yeah!” Tookie yelled.

  “All right, girl! Let’s do this!” Ci~L shouted. She arched her back and their bodies pivoted and shot toward the ground with breakneck speed. The wind snapped through Tookie’s hair. She felt the skin of her cheeks pressing back as they gathered momentum. The cemetery loomed closer … closer … so close that Tookie could read the names on the graves: MUSE MELODIA, MUSE PRANCIA, MUSE CHROMIA, MUSE DRAMATIA, MUSE FABRICIA, MUSE CHITECTIA. Each stone glowed fiery gold as they approached. But instead of crying out in fear, Tookie let out an adventurous whoop. She thought again of the new letter she’d written for T-Mail Jail. Recalling how she had addressed it: To every Forgetta-Girl in the entire world. And how she had signed off: Tookie, dotting her i with RG for Rememba-Girl.

  The Intoxibella and soon-to-be Segunda Bella shot like arrows toward the earth. A black hole opened up as their bodies approached. Just as Tookie and Ci~L entered, the hole magically, seamlessly swallowed them up … and the two of them disappeared.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The idea for Modelland came to me while I was in the car on the FDR Drive in New York City. I jotted it down on a piece of scratch paper and tucked it into my purse. Four years later, that scrap of paper has transformed into the book (or digital thingamajig) you now hold in your hands. And because of that, I have many people and places to say merci, danke, and gracias to.

  From a scrap of paper, Modelland went to paper notebooks that I would write story beats in while sitting by the Hudson River. So thank you, Hudson, even if your water is not as blue as I would like it to be. The notebook material then made its way into my laptop, and I squatted at many cafés, for longer than the average dining period should last, and none of you complained (to my face). So thank you, NoHo Star, Caffe Falai (“Ciao, bellos!”), Balthazar, Delicatessen, Culina at the Four Seasons, Iris Café, Asellina at Gansevoort Park Avenue, the café at the Guggenheim Museum, and Andaz 5th Avenue—your hotel common areas and The Shop. And a special thanks to the Crosby Street Hotel restaurant. Sometimes I’d sit in one seat there for eight hours at a time, ordering breakfast, lunch, then dinner, only getting up for bio breaks. I know I abused the privilege of that corner window seat. You made me so comfy, though. You practically offered me a pillow and a blanket, and for that, I am forever grateful. Can’t wait for the slumber party when I start Modelland II. Oh, I can’t forget to thank my mom’s and John’s dining room tables. Thank you for letting me mar you with stacks of papers, computer cables, and coffee-mug rings. Mom and John, I send you each big, sloppy kisses.

  My other life, being the chairwoman and CEO of The Tyra Banks Company, did not stop, and the pressure I was under was intense. At times, I had to get away so I could focus on Modelland. I went on a few kinda swanky retreats, camping out at hotels and doing nothing but writing. Terranea Resort, you helped produce a marvelous outline for Modelland. I might not have followed it exactly, but it was an amazing framework. St. Regis Monarch Beach, thanks for the love and golf cart trips to the restaurant right on the sand. And Montage Laguna Beach, thanks for not complaining when I asked for an extension cord for my battery-drained laptop and you snaked one from about a half mile away to my balcony table overlooking the shore. Speaking of the shore, much love to the Pacific Ocean. Your crashing waves crashed through my few bouts of writer’s block.

  Lake Como, thank you for providing me with a beautiful landscape in which to create and for inspiring the creation of Abigail Goode. As I gazed over your water, she popped into my mind. Hair? Water? Not sure what the connection is, but thanks anyway. (It didn’t hurt that George Clooney lived a few doors down.…)

  Morocco. The weeks I spent with you produced such superb material. Thank you to the Amangena resort for your candlelight and to Abdul for the verbena tea you kept pouring at three in the morning when I was on a writing roll with insane jet lag. Morocco, thank you for the architectural inspiration for the atrium in the FEDS. Thank you to the wonderful people of the Berber village I visited. It was a real treat for me to read a section of Modelland for half an hour to children who didn’t speak English. I thought that if I could hold their attention that long, maybe my book had a chance at success. Shukran.

  Greece. I polished my baby on your soil. I had to finally let her go while I was in your clutches. Hitting the Send button while staring at Crete waves was not easy. But all children must be launched into the world. It was time.

  Yes, I have had the amazing privilege to write in some delicious places. But the place I am most grateful for is one that exists in some form around the globe, a place all have access to: the library. The majority of my time writing Modelland was spent in a library. A place where I feel at peace, at home. I can’t believe the bibliothecas where I spent so much time working on Modelland will now house it. So with much humility, I thank the libraries—and the librarians in charge—where I spent so much valuable time: the Mid-Manhattan Library in the Stephen A. Schwarzman Building (goodness, you are GORGEOUS!), the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts at Lincoln Center, and the Beverly Hills Library (especially for the BellaDonna Opera lyrics. And sorry for eating maple nut fudge—not chocolate—under the table. That BellaDonna songwriting worked up my appetite, and the fudge factory is right in your building!).

  Cinemagic XM satellite radio, how do you know the exact score I need to hear when I am writing a particular passage?

  Thank you to my Twitter and Facebook fam, who sent warm SMIZEs of encouragement as I struggled with carpal tunnel and my deadline.

  Thank you to Harvard Business School and my marketing Professor Rohit Deshpande for schooling me on Hindi and Indian culture. Professor Robert Steven Kaplan, my leadership prof, thanks for suggesting I give the Unicas’ richer, more vulnerable backstories. Columbia University, I cheated on Harvard with you and used your grand stairway as a post to write an en
tire chapter of Modelland. You are so unbelievably breathtaking, and I can’t wait for our next tryst. Shhh …

  Thanks to my agent, Nancy Josephson, for believing that Modelland was more than just a place in my head and for working diligently to make sure it came to life. To my book agent, Andy McNicol, for saying supermodel is an overused term and pushing me to come up with something else. Hence, Intoxibella! To Matt Johnson, my wonderful attorney (I know, you look nothing like Guru MattJoe and you have nothing in common with him, but I wanted to get your name in the manuscript somehow. Yep, yep.). To Brad Rose, my trademark attorney. You covered a very important Modelland detail for me. You rock!

  Tama Smith, your business advice is my saving grace. Look for your name in Modelland II. Intoxibella Tama, maybe? Ken Mok, my dear partner on Top Model: you are an amazing cheerleader and an even more amazing father. And finally, you can visit Modelland, and not just in your sleepy awake-dreams! Michael Salort—can you believe it’s a real book now? And there’s no way in the world I could have done ManAttack without you. For that and so much more, I am forever grateful. Joe, I could not have kept track of the Modelland story, backstory, front and side stories, and everything in between without you. Laura Brown, thanks for allowing me to hole you up in your Harper’s Bazaar office while you schooled me on “low-flying duck” Aussie-speak. Madison, thanks for offering to read my crazy-long first draft. How the heck could you do that and study for “Ivy” exams? Miss Madison, I have read many of your school papers. You have a writing gift. Go for it, girl! Sydney, thanks for the two words in this book that you sometimes say that I HAD to put in. Oh, and Sydney, dance in your spirit AND your body. You really ARE good!!!

  Janice Y. K. Lee, yours was the first author reading I’ve ever been to. Thank you for showing me that once the book is released into the world, it’s no longer mine, that the readers own it. And thanks for the homemade Korean barbeque ribs. Yum! And Janice, I’m still hoping for a sequel to The Piano Teacher that I know you will never write. C’mon, Janice, just one secret MS for me. Please? Sara Shepard, we have experienced a few firsts together. A first novel for me, a first baby for you. You have no idea how my heart swelled when you told me I was a good storyteller! I only hope for a smidgeon of the success you have achieved with Pretty Little Liars. I can’t wait to read the sequels that still live inside of that genius head of yours! Stephen King (it feels so good to even type your name, especially because people will assume we are friends!), I want to thank you for writing On Writing. Yep, I read it. Twice. I may have failed when it comes to your advice that one should not use too many adverbs and adjectives. But Modelland is so splendiferously, kaleidoscopically, out-of-this-world colorful, I couldn’t help myself! Please forgive me!