brands in the world, and Ci~L had had contracts with all of them—simultaneously. One season, all of the designers during LaDorno fashion week had decided to have Ci~L be their only model. Ci~L starred—solo—on eighty-two runways that season.
So where had she gone?
The shady vendor eyed Tookie. “Hey there, funny-lookin’ girl, wanna buy a piece of Ci~L?”
“Uh …” Tookie turned away nervously. Then she noticed someone familiar sitting on a bench only a few feet away from the mall’s entrance. A man she’d seen on her walks home from school. He had broad, football-player shoulders, but today he was so drooped over that his body made a shrimp shape on the bench. His skin was faintly wrinkled, and his root-beer-brown eyes looked sad. He mumbled softly to himself, just like he always did, and held on to the laces of an enormous battered wingtip shoe slung over his shoulder. That shoe was why Tookie had given him a secret nickname: Wingtip.
Wingtip’s head shot up. His eyes met hers for a brief second, suddenly clearing. Tookie froze. She wasn’t used to being seen.
A disgusted snort sounded to her right. “Ugh, what riffraff they allow into LaDorno,” Mrs. De La Crème scoffed, sneering at Wingtip. She pinched Tookie’s arm. “What have I told you about making eye contact with the demented? Turn away! He’s dangerous!”
Tookie shrugged. Wingtip didn’t seem so dangerous to her—though the fact that he spoke to himself did frighten her a bit. Lizzie spoke to herself too, but only during her episodes, the moments when she went far, far, away to a scary place in her mind that Tookie couldn’t enter.
She snuck a glance back at Wingtip. At his threadbare suit, his crusty clogs, his sad smile, and the single shoe slung over his shoulder. He was still looking at her too.
“You all right?” he asked.
Tookie’s jaw dropped. Now he was
speaking
to her? But before she could say anything, a boom sounded, echoing off the tall buildings. A brisk wind stirred, whipping Tookie’s hair into super-expando mode and fluttering her skirt. Tookie peered into the sky.It had suddenly darkened, as if a storm was coming. The clouds weren’t black, though—they were golden.
“Oh my God,” Tookie whispered. Golden clouds could mean only one thing.
Everyone turned and gaped at the mountain in the center of town. All at once, huge waves of the mountain’s golden fog began to vanish, and beams of gold light that transformed to golden shadows cascaded down the ridge and swept over every street. Tookie heard a soft, alluring giggle in her ear. She felt a swipe of satin brush up against her arm. The smell of blood oranges filled the air.
“It’s happening!” a woman yelled, rushing out of the mall.
“The shadows!” cried a man who’d been washing windows on a high platform.
The fog on the mountain had completely evaporated, revealing the top of the mountain, which glowed like a metropolis at dusk. Hovering above the mountain was an illuminated eye with its SMIZE flourishes made up of millions of birds from a myriad of species. Tookie had seen the phenomenon before, but never this close. A sleek yet enormous hand of smoke looped around the entire mountaintop and proceeded to spell a word with its white plumes of smoke.
M-O-D-E-L-L-A-N-D
.
Everyone spilled out onto the sidewalk to watch the spectacle. Cars stopped in the middle of the street, the drivers gawking out their sunroofs. An elevated train halted in its tracks. All the passengers stared out the windows, their mouths open.
“I see I have your attention!” boomed a familiar Gowdee’an-accented voice. It seemed to be coming from the sky itself. Lightning bolts shot from letter cloud to letter cloud, turning themfrom white to red to blue to green to yellow. “This is the BellaDonna speaking,” the voice continued.
Everyone oohed and aahed. The BellaDonna was the grand dame of the Land on the mountain and the final decision-maker about all
So where had she gone?
The shady vendor eyed Tookie. “Hey there, funny-lookin’ girl, wanna buy a piece of Ci~L?”
“Uh …” Tookie turned away nervously. Then she noticed someone familiar sitting on a bench only a few feet away from the mall’s entrance. A man she’d seen on her walks home from school. He had broad, football-player shoulders, but today he was so drooped over that his body made a shrimp shape on the bench. His skin was faintly wrinkled, and his root-beer-brown eyes looked sad. He mumbled softly to himself, just like he always did, and held on to the laces of an enormous battered wingtip shoe slung over his shoulder. That shoe was why Tookie had given him a secret nickname: Wingtip.
Wingtip’s head shot up. His eyes met hers for a brief second, suddenly clearing. Tookie froze. She wasn’t used to being seen.
A disgusted snort sounded to her right. “Ugh, what riffraff they allow into LaDorno,” Mrs. De La Crème scoffed, sneering at Wingtip. She pinched Tookie’s arm. “What have I told you about making eye contact with the demented? Turn away! He’s dangerous!”
Tookie shrugged. Wingtip didn’t seem so dangerous to her—though the fact that he spoke to himself did frighten her a bit. Lizzie spoke to herself too, but only during her episodes, the moments when she went far, far, away to a scary place in her mind that Tookie couldn’t enter.
She snuck a glance back at Wingtip. At his threadbare suit, his crusty clogs, his sad smile, and the single shoe slung over his shoulder. He was still looking at her too.
“You all right?” he asked.
Tookie’s jaw dropped. Now he was
speaking
to her? But before she could say anything, a boom sounded, echoing off the tall buildings. A brisk wind stirred, whipping Tookie’s hair into super-expando mode and fluttering her skirt. Tookie peered into the sky.It had suddenly darkened, as if a storm was coming. The clouds weren’t black, though—they were golden.
“Oh my God,” Tookie whispered. Golden clouds could mean only one thing.
Everyone turned and gaped at the mountain in the center of town. All at once, huge waves of the mountain’s golden fog began to vanish, and beams of gold light that transformed to golden shadows cascaded down the ridge and swept over every street. Tookie heard a soft, alluring giggle in her ear. She felt a swipe of satin brush up against her arm. The smell of blood oranges filled the air.
“It’s happening!” a woman yelled, rushing out of the mall.
“The shadows!” cried a man who’d been washing windows on a high platform.
The fog on the mountain had completely evaporated, revealing the top of the mountain, which glowed like a metropolis at dusk. Hovering above the mountain was an illuminated eye with its SMIZE flourishes made up of millions of birds from a myriad of species. Tookie had seen the phenomenon before, but never this close. A sleek yet enormous hand of smoke looped around the entire mountaintop and proceeded to spell a word with its white plumes of smoke.
M-O-D-E-L-L-A-N-D
.
Everyone spilled out onto the sidewalk to watch the spectacle. Cars stopped in the middle of the street, the drivers gawking out their sunroofs. An elevated train halted in its tracks. All the passengers stared out the windows, their mouths open.
“I see I have your attention!” boomed a familiar Gowdee’an-accented voice. It seemed to be coming from the sky itself. Lightning bolts shot from letter cloud to letter cloud, turning themfrom white to red to blue to green to yellow. “This is the BellaDonna speaking,” the voice continued.
Everyone oohed and aahed. The BellaDonna was the grand dame of the Land on the mountain and the final decision-maker about all
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