Modelland (14 page)

But Tookie and the Scout were too high in the sky for Lizzie to hear her. Lizzie’s tiny body jerked to the side in a big twitch. After a moment, she lowered her head and began to run once more, the shadows swallowing up her crimson head. Soon she was nothing but a small dot.

“Lizzie …,” Tookie whispered, overcome with shame and guilt. She stood and curtsied, saying farewell to her one and only friend.

They moved fast through LaDorno, traversing the Resort Quarter, the Luxury District, and Platinum Row. As they neared the base of the mountain to Modelland, the Scout slowed in front of the Obscure Obelisks and stopped so abruptly that Tookie tumbled backward. Then the Scout took a sharp turn and headed straight down.

Tookie scrambled to the front of the pouch. The ground was approaching fast. A rush of air pushed against her body, the g-forces distorting her face and making her cheeks flutter. A horrible wail rang through Tookie’s ears, and after a split second, she realized it was her own terrified scream.
We’re really going to crash
, she thought hysterically. She squeezed her eyes tight and braced herself for impact.

But instead of hitting the sidewalk, they merged into it, disappearing beneath the streets. Tookie rolled to the back of the pouch, legs over head. When she opened her eyes, they were in a narrow, dimpled tunnel with pale green walls. It looked to Tookie
like the inside of a plant stem. The air smelled like it did before a thunderstorm. A loud
whomp-whomp-whomp
vibrated in her ears.

Tookie and the Scout shot forward even faster, the pouch bouncing up and down. Just a few seconds later, the fabric darkened, turning black and shiny. Muffled music filled the air, growing louder and louder, until Tookie recognized it as the T-DOD theme song, set to banjos.

A green-tinged fluorescent light appeared at the end of a tunnel. It grew brighter and brighter, and soon Tookie found herself face to face with cash registers, credit card machines,
Modelland
magazines, and hundreds of checkout lines. In front of her the Scout’s paper-flat, gem-studded and now shiny-black-patent-leather-clad body rolled out of an enormous black rubber mechanism. All at once, Tookie understood: the Scout had just unrolled from a conveyor belt! They must be in some kind of store! Then she looked around.

“Oh. My. God!” Tookie gasped aloud. “I’m in—”

“Bou-Big-Tique Nation walking ladies!”
a chipper-voiced man boomed over the PA.
“It looks like we’ve got a zirconia-encrusted Modelland Scout on the loose!”

Thousands of girls screamed with excitement. Voices bubbled through the air.

“Where is she?” a girl screamed.

“I think I see her in aisle 453 near the purple lightbulb section!”

“No, she’s in the auto parts aisle!”

Tookie looked through the pouch, taking in Bou-Big-Tique Nation for the first time. She’d read all about the place—it was the most convenient of convenience stores, for everyone
lived
inside the giant store! Small houses peppered the perimeter as far as
Tookie could see, and a wide upper-level balcony filled with larger houses encircled the entire place. To her left was a large section of motor homes for sale. A bored salesman sat under a sign that read
READY TO TAKE YOUR FAMILY ON A BOU-BIG-TIQUE VACATION TOUR? EXPLORE THE OTHER SIDE OF THE NATION IN STYLE!
The rest of the square footage contained mile upon mile of merchandise. But no one was shopping.

Everywhere Tookie looked, girls were walking.

They were in a different part of the country, in a different time zone.
It’s still T-DOD here
, Tookie thought.

Scores of girls sashayed through the aisles, shoving each other and screeching whenever they crossed paths. Every girl wore a single color from head to toe. A curly-haired strawberry blonde with a gap between her teeth was dressed in all mint-green. A bronze-skinned girl wore metallic gold from her headband to her false eyelashes to her shoelaces.

Tookie’s Scout was the only one doing any shopping at the Bou-Big-Tique. Her head darted left and right. Then the Scout homed in on a girl about an eighth of a mile away. It was weird—whatever the Scout saw and heard, Tookie could see and hear too. Like the tiny ticks in the tick farm display way down aisle 135 and the tapping of a girl’s foot at a messy counter marked
THE NATION’S CUSTOMER SERVICE
, which was clear across the store.

The girl stood behind the counter. Her name tag said
Dylan
. Dylan was shaped like a bottle of Bou-Big-Tique cola and had a heart-shaped face. Her lips were full and naturally raspberry-colored, and her lavender-blue eyes sparkled. Her thick, healthy, golden-blond hair stretched to her butt, and she wore it in two ponytails, one on each side of her head. Her monochromatic outfit
was the exact hue of her lavender-blue eyes. An apron with strips of blinking lights displayed
BOU
in bold across her chest,
BIG
in block letters down her right thigh, and
TIQUE
in script across her buttocks.

A little girl ran up to Dylan. “Dyl, why can’t I walk? I’ve been practicing my strutty-strut.” She twirled around Dylan.

“DeeDee, you know you can’t walk today, babycakes. You’re only five years old. Plus, Mama would go
cuh-ray-zee
on me if she saw you anywhere near that loony-bin farm of desperate chicks.”

The little girl pouted. “Can I walk with you, then? Right here? She won’t know.”

Dylan smiled good-naturedly at her little sister. “Okay, babycakes. Stand on my feet.”

As if on cue, a crash sounded down an aisle. “You stole my walking style!” a girl in an ivory outfit screamed to the strawberry blonde, lurching for her and knocking over a display of motor oil. Gallons of slick ooze were now creeping across the tile floor.

“Strawberries and Cream are mixing it up in a blender on aisle number one ninety-seven,”
cackled a voice over the loudspeaker.
“I wonder what that juicy smoothie is gonna taste like!”

A female Bou-Big-Tique security guard bicycled down to break up the brawl and to keep the flow of walkers moving. Strawberry promptly punched the security guard in the eye, and a new brawl ensued.

The speakers crackled again.
“Girls and ladies, chicks and dames, the Strawberry on aisle one ninety-seven is one sexy knockout! We need assistance! Can someone please back that thang up and get over here now?”

Dylan sighed and whispered something in her sister’s ear, then
marched toward the altercation. Swinging her hips to dodge frantic walkers and lifting her arms to squeeze between displays, Dylan looked graceful and very sexy even as she slid in the oil spill.

“Come on, ladies!” Dylan shouted at Strawberry, who was swinging punches at anyone nearby. Six instigating girls continued to prance and strut around the ruckus.

Dylan’s mere presence seemed to calm Strawberry. Dylan put her hands on her hips, cleared her throat, and spoke like a referee. “Okay, so since the day you were born here in the Bou-Big-Tique hospital, nursed on wombat milk, you’ve dreamed of going to Modelland. Am I correct?”

The girls nodded.

“And has
Modelland
magazine ever mentioned that it prefers girls with high hopes of bein’ the next welterweight champion of the BBT Nation?” Dylan asked.

The girls shook their heads.

“Then let’s get back to fulfillin’ ya dreams, ladies. Y’all are all busted-lookin’ now from your championship fight, but pull your confidence from your insides. That’s gotta count for somethin’.” And then under her breath she muttered, “Cuz whoo, chile, y’all look
cuh-ray-zee
.

“Let’s put one foot in front of the other,” Dylan continued. “Swing them hips … not too much … don’t slip in the oil … there ya go.” The girls formed a line behind Dylan like an army following its captain.

“Now repeat after me,” Dylan said. “If I don’t get chose for Modelland’s fam, they can kiss my butt, I won’t give a damn!”

Swoosh
. Tookie felt a tug, and suddenly the Scout made a beeline for Dylan’s marching lineup.

All the girls saw her at once. “It’s happening! Pick me! Pick me!”

But the Scout swept past all of them and stopped at Dylan. Dylan froze in her tracks, looking confused. The Scout extended her neck, pushing her face within a millimeter of Dylan’s, just as she had done with Myrracle and Tookie. Satisfied, the Scout stepped back and reached toward Dylan.

Dylan stared at the Scout, in a bug-eyed trance. “You’re …”

She looked behind her.

“… here …”

She eyeballed an immense crowd forming silently around her and the Scout.

“… for me?”

“They’re taking Dylan!” a distant voice announced. A rolling wave of murmurs headed Dylan’s way and grew louder.

Dylan’s mouth dropped open. A look of understanding washed across her face. “But what about my brothers and sisters?” Dylan gestured to a tiny house near the dental and feminine-hygiene aisles. “I got four of each. I look after them.”

Suddenly, a woman who looked just like Dylan, only about twenty years older, pushed through the spectators and hugged Dylan’s shoulders. There were proud tears in her eyes. “Don’t worry, baby. This is your time.”

“Um, seriously, Mama? I’m going to Modelland? Me?” Dylan ran her hands over her generous hips, then shrugged. “Maybe a little—or should I say a lot—of some Bou-Big-Tique booty is just what Miss Modelland needs!”

The Scout nodded and the whole of the Bou-Big-Tique erupted into cheers and applause.

And then Dylan fainted, crumpling to the ground. Everyone gasped.

“Don’t worry!” Dylan’s mother waved her arms frantically. “She does that when she’s excited or scared or in shock!”

The Scout reached down and lifted Dylan in her arms. Blue, green, and red fireworks exploded above them inside the store. The music pumped louder. Then the golden light that Tookie had seen in LaDorno appeared again. Suddenly, a foot rammed into Tookie’s waist. Dylan was in the pouch next to her, just like that.

The blonde jumped when she saw Tookie. “Hey, girl! I’m Dylan! Whoa! I never seen eyes like
that
before. Interestin’. Who are you?”

Tookie flinched. She wasn’t used to people paying attention to her. “Um, I’m Tookie,” she fumbled. She tried to smile.

The pouch lurched to the left, and the Scout lifted off. Both girls tumbled about as they shot up through the roof of Bou-Big-Tique Nation. The last thing Tookie heard was a crackle over the loudspeaker.

“All right, little losers…,”
the announcer resumed.
“Tissues for your boo-hoos and bandages for your boo-boos can be found in aisle two twenty-twos!”

The pouch swept through the green portal again. After a few minutes, a vanilla-scented breeze tickled Tookie’s nose. In seconds, the pouch began to fill with thick white goo.

“What in the heck is happenin’?” Dylan yelled.

“Uh …” Tookie tried to move, but the goo had already reached her waist. It rapidly filled the pouch, soon submerging even their heads. But weirdly, Tookie could breathe in it as easily as a fish could breathe in water. The warm goo grew thicker and thicker until it was difficult for her to move. Then she and Dylan were frozen in place.

Crack!
Suddenly, the goo released them. Tookie and Dylan
tumbled, turned around, and saw a seven-foot candle busted open down the middle. The veiled Scout was still in front of them, flapping away now in a waxy diamond-covered bodysuit.

Dylan wiped some remaining goo from her eyes. “Hey, Scout lady! Did we for real just pop out of a
candle
?”

But the Scout didn’t answer.

The sky above was an inky black. The lights of a village glowed far below. Candles in all shapes and sizes lit the entire town. Every house had an immense candle where the chimney should have been, and thin candles illuminated every street. A stiff breeze blew, and all the lights flickered in a surge. Some blew out but relit just seconds later.

“Ooh, look over there!” Dylan pointed past a hill to an area much brighter than the rest of the dimly lit town. “It looks like a fire’s blazin’!”

The waxy smell in the air got stronger, as if someone had pushed a candle close to Tookie’s nostrils. Suddenly Tookie knew exactly where they were.

“Canne Del Abra,” she murmured in a tiny voice. She’d read about it in a book once. Canne Del Abra was the world’s candle manufacturing center, the source of waxy light for all.

“For real for real?” Dylan looked excited. “We sell Canne Del Abra candles in aisles three eighty-five to four hundred and one! Sometimes I trek on over there durin’ my break and inhale the fudge-scented ones! Don’t you just love fudge?”

Tookie grimaced. Chocolate was practically the only food she didn’t like.

Dylan’s eyes goggled. “Girl, you don’t like chocolate? You must be
cuh-ray-zee
!”

The Scout soared through the town’s crooked cobblestone
streets. A makeshift market of tents and tables sold fire-starter kits and fire insurance. Down a narrow alley, a man scurried along pushing a cart filled with the scrunched stubs of burnt-out candles. A tall, olive-skinned teenage girl with nervous eyes rushed alongside him. “Aéï ëì æîï áùáéì ììëú, éååùåüøååî ëì æîï,” she urged.

Tookie sat up straighter. They were speaking Labrian, the official language of Canne Del Abra, which she understood perfectly. The girl had just told the man,
Daddy, I’m so nervous. The Day of Discovery walk-off is about to start and my dress has still not arrived
.

A petite, muscular girl with thick curly hair, a face covered with freckles, and full lips ran toward the man and his daughter. She carried bundles and packages under her arms and wore a loose beige top that gaped at the neck, gathered shorts that flapped with her movements, and gladiator sandals whose straps looked on the verge of becoming undone. In Labrian, the girl sang: