Free Modelland by Tyra Banks Page B

A. 7. Seven. Is. It. You?”
    Fireworks burst around the Intoxibellas. The crowd cheered wildly. Several people fainted.
    Tookie suddenly caught a glimpse of blue behind a bench. It was two feet clad in doctor’s booties. She drew in a breath.
Lizzie?
    Tookie scampered over worriedly, not even bothering to tell her mother or Myrracle where she was going, since they were transfixed by the spectacle in the sky. Lizzie was half hiding behind a bush, twitching wildly. Her eyes were rolling back in her head.
    “Lizzie!” Tookie cried, taking her friend’s hand. “What are you doing here?” Normally, Lizzie didn’t dare show her face in places so public or crowded.
    Lizzie just stared ahead into nothingness, not at all unlike Wingtip. Then she spoke in a drone Tookie had never heard from her, as if she was a medium at a séance. “They took her last night. By her feet. The burning continued throughout the night. They cut open her blisters and poured liquid metal into her veins.”
    Lizzie then raised the cuffs of her pants, which were dragging on the ground, revealing feet that looked like they had been dipped in battery acid, with open sores that oozed pus. The area near her arches had a hundred little cuts ranged in straight lines, as if they were soldiers ready for battle.
    “Lizzie!” Tookie cried. She looked around frantically, hoping someone could help her. “We have to get you to a hospital!”
    Lizzie shook her head violently. “No! I don’t need a hospital. They’ll kill me! But … I do need
you
, Tookie.”
    Tookie clutched Lizzie’s hands. “Need me? For what?” But Tookie knew what Lizzie meant.
    “Exodus,” Lizzie whispered oh-so-faintly.
    Tookie widened her eyes. A shiver went through her. “Wh-when?”
    “Tomorrow. Please.”
    “Tookie!”
    Tookie turned at the sound of her mother’s voice. Mrs. De La Crème was standing near the parked cars, looking annoyed. Tookie swallowed hard, then turned back to Lizzie—but she was nowhere to be seen.
    “Oh my God,” Tookie whispered, running her hands down the length of her face. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Lizzie had braved this crowded part of Metopia to find Tookie. Whatever was happening to her must have been even scarier than her burns and scars themselves—it was dire. A life-or-painful-death situation.
    Exodus
. Lizzie was leaving. Had to leave. And she needed Tookie to come with her.
    “You all right?”
    It was Wingtip. He stood behind Tookie, his face crumpled with sadness, the shoe slung over his shoulder.
    “Oh!” Tookie exclaimed. She tried to wipe away her tears. “Uh, I’m fine.” Then she looked away, feeling awkward. It was so rare for her to speak to strangers. Usually, they didn’t notice her. And her mother’s warning rang in her head. What if there was something wrong with Wingtip? What if he was truly a dangerous man?
    “What’s got you so sad, little lady?” Wingtip asked.
    Tookie shrugged. “It’s nothing. Really. I’m not supposed to look at you, let alone speak with you.”
    He chuckled. “Nothing I’m not used to.”
    “Why do you talk to yourself?” Tookie blurted out, then clapped her hand over her mouth, fearing she’d been rude.
    But Wingtip didn’t look bothered. “Little lady, when your world has been ripped right from under you, you tend to not trustmuch of what anybody says. Anybody but yourself, that is. And I do a good job of keeping myself company.”
    “Okay. Confession time,” Tookie said. “Sometimes I speak to myself too, since nobody else does.”
    “It’ll stop you from going crazy,” Wingtip chuckled.
    “Crazy? Ha! My mother says
you’re
crazy!”
    “Oh,
does
she, now? Well, maybe you should listen to your mother.”
    “Nah, I think you’re more sad than crazy.”
    “Smart little lady you are.” The man fiddled with the laces of the shoe slung over his shoulder. “I know why I’m a sad sap of a man, but why are
you
crying?”
    “Um … because it