“So, we need to go dress shopping,” Haylie said in lieu of a greeting. “Which weekend are you free? Can we take Yoko? All the good dresses in Scarletville are going to get snapped up right away, so we’ll probably have to drive down to Iowa City or Cedar Rapids. My mom’s college roommate owns this boutique in Iowa City called Lulu Levine, so we can probably get discounts there. And she’s a redhead, so I trust her to show us good stuff.”
“Good morning to you, too,” Felicity said. “I have to ask my mom. And I have a bunch of stuff to do for the art show and the prom committee.”
“Seriously? Dress shopping?” Ivy gave her sign another twist. “I didn’t realize I’d have to spend money on this stupid pageant. Can’t I just wear one of your old gowns, Hays?”
Haylie looked at Ivy as if she had just suggested wearing a dress made of dead weasels. “Are you kidding? You can’t wear a hand-me-down for Miss Scarlet! And stop mutilating your sign. You’re getting glitter all over your shoes.”
A pair of strong freckled arms locked around Felicity’s waist from behind, followed by a nose nuzzling her neck. “Hey, Lissy,” Brent’s voice said close to her ear. “You smell awesome.”
Felicity had repeatedly asked Brent not to call her “Lissy,” a nickname that was reserved for her brothers. She thought about reminding him again, but really, what was the point? He’d be genuinely sorry, and his wide-eyed, penitent look would make her forgive him. But he’d do the exact same thing tomorrow. It was less work to just swallow her annoyance. Besides, the nuzzling was sending a rather pleasant shiver down her spine. So she just smiled and said, “Thanks. How’re you?”
“Better now.” He kissed her neck. “We had a solid practice this morning. Coach says I have great hustle.”
Felicity didn’t have the slightest idea what that meant. “That’s great, babe.” He nuzzled her again in response.
“Get a room, people.” Haylie wrinkled her tiny nose. Felicity knew her friend was jealous that she had such a cute redheaded jock for a boyfriend. She wished she could explain that dating Brent was usually more like caring for a puppy than having a relationship, but Haylie would just think she was playing things down to be nice. Plus, her friends could never know she felt ambivalent toward Brent, or they would wonder why she stayed with him. The truth was that in addition to having some genuinely good qualities, Brent was insurance for Felicity—he added to her redhead credibility, or her “red cred,” as she secretly thought of it. People were less likely to suspect her hair color wasn’t natural when she was dating one of the most popular guys on the football team.
“Hey, do you guys want to come over after school and look at pageant dresses online?” Haylie asked.
“Oooh, I’d hate to miss that, but I have swim practice,” said Ivy. “Thanks anyway.”
“Sorry, Hays, I’ve got to pick up the twins,” Felicity said. Her supposed babysitting duties were very convenient excuses whenever she had appointments at the salon. “We’ll do it soon, though.”
The first bell rang, and Haylie and Ivy took off down the hall. Felicity’s first class, History of Redheadedness, was just around the corner, and she gently unlatched Brent’s arms so she could dig through her locker for her textbook. “Can I come over and see you tonight?” Brent asked. “We could watch a movie. Or not watch one.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Maybe,” Felicity said. “Call me, okay?”
“I’m going to the gym after school. Coach says I should be able to bench about fifteen more pounds. Gotta work on my arms. Call you after.”
“Great.” Felicity gave him a quick kiss, then watched as he walked away. He already had really great arms.
The day passed in a blur of admiring looks, praise, and congratulations from her fellow students and teachers. Three giggling freshmen approached Felicity in the cafeteria and made her and Haylie promise to sign their yearbooks, which wouldn’t even arrive for another four weeks. Unlike Felicity, Haylie soaked up the attention. “Everyone needs celebrities to adore,” she announced. “We’re providing a valuable service to the school. We have to do our civic duty and let everyone gossip to their heart’s content.” Ivy responded with a sound that closely resembled that of a cat expelling a hairball.
Felicity tried hard to remember Haylie’s comment when she caught Sayuri Kwan and Marina lurking near her locker after school, stealing quick glances at her as they laughed and whispered. They’re just talking about how much they wish they could switch places with me, she told herself as she headed to the salon. There’s no reason to worry.
Rouge-o-Rama was located in the Jefferson Building, where many of Scarletville’s dentists, lawyers, and real estate agents had their offices. The building’s main elevators stopped only on the first six floors. The salon was on the seventh, which looked like part of the roof from the outside. Felicity went to the third floor and waited until the hall was empty, then ducked into the women’s bathroom, marked CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS. Once inside the room, which reeked of cheap floral air freshener, she approached a plain metal door near the back and pressed on a wall tile next to the doorknob. It flipped up to reveal a keypad, which always made Felicity feel like a secret agent. She pulled out her mom’s Post-it note, punched in that day’s salon code, and flipped the tile back down. The door unlocked with a click, and she pulled it open.
Behind the door was one of Rouge-o-Rama’s two private elevators. This one carried clients up, and the other, at the opposite side of the building, took them back down after their appointments. The other elevator let out on the second floor, which ensured that clients never accidentally met coming to and from the salon.
Felicity boarded the elevator and punched the only available button, and the car ascended to the top floor with its usual clanking and grinding noises. Rose opened the door almost immediately when Felicity rang the bell. “Hey, honey!” the stylist said, pulling her into an enthusiastic hug. “Congratulations on Miss Scarlet!”
“Thanks,” Felicity said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Of course you could’ve. You got in ’cause you deserved it, not just because of your hair. If it was all about red hair, they wouldn’t have chosen Ariel, right?”
“Yeah, but Ariel doesn’t have a chance. Is it even worth competing if you can’t possibly win? That’s so much work for nothing.”
“I think Ariel might disagree.” Rose shrugged. “Come inside. Let’s make you even more beautiful.”
Rose led Felicity into one of the salon’s two main rooms, handed her a smock, and went into the back to mix the dye. Contrary to all rumors, Rouge-o-Rama just looked like a regular hair salon. The walls of the main room were papered in a crimson and white pattern intended to hide errant flecks of red dye. The mirrors had decorative, low-wattage lightbulbs around the edges—Felicity had spent a lot of time posing in front of them as a kid, pretending she was a Hollywood starlet. It was a comfortable, warm space that made people feel optimistic about their hair, even if it wasn’t naturally red.
Felicity sat down in the chair and snapped on her smock, which had a big red rose printed on the front. After a few minutes, Rose came out shaking a plastic squeeze bottle, her gloved finger over the hole in the top. “So, are you excited about the competition?” she asked.
“Yeah, definitely. It’s going to be great.” Felicity tipped her chin up so Rose could smear Vaseline along her hairline to prevent accidental drips from dyeing her skin. It was slimy and cold, and she had to force herself not to pull away.
“What are you doing for your talent?” Rose started squeezing the dye onto the roots of Felicity’s hair, using a small paintbrush to spread it around evenly. The harsh chemical scent of it scratched at the inside of Felicity’s nose, the olfactory equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard.
“I’ll tap-dance. That was Mom’s talent, too. I already learned a routine, just in case.”
“I can’t wait to see you strut your stuff. You’re all so talented. Katie, my youngest, is totall
y obsessed with the pageant this year. You should see her practicing her runway walk in the living room every night. It’s adorable how she idolizes you girls.” Rose grinned at Felicity in the mirror. “Is everyone treating you like a celebrity at school?”
“Yeah, most people.” But her brunette classmates’ cold stares were still fresh in her mind. She tried to figure out how to ask Rose if anyone could possibly know who frequented the salon, but she couldn’t think of a way to phrase the question that didn’t sound paranoid.
Rose brushed on one final squeeze of dye and stretched a plastic cap over Felicity’s hair. “Come on, it’s time for the dryer.”
Felicity tried to concentrate on reading Macbeth for her English assignment while the dye set, but it was hard to focus with so much on her mind. There was also something very disconcerting about reading the “Out, damned spot!” scene while her hair was drenched in blood-colored liquid. Eventually she just closed her eyes and listened to Rose’s radio, which informed her that Ruby Johansen, Scarletville’s fiftieth redheaded baby of the year, had just been delivered. Rose did little chores around the studio until the timer on the dryer went off, then led Felicity to the sink and started scrubbing out the dye.
“Rose?” Felicity asked timidly. Now that she couldn’t see her stylist’s face, it was easier to say things that might sound accusatory.
“Yes, honey?”
“I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you or anything, so please don’t take this the wrong way. But you would never tell anyone whose hair you dye, right?”
Rose’s fingers stopped moving against her head. “Of course not, Felicity. You know that. I signed a contract with your mom when you were just a little kid. I would never violate client confidentiality.”
“I mean, I didn’t think you would. I know you’re a professional and everything. But there’s no way that someone could accidentally find out who comes here, is there?”
Rose sighed. “I know you’re nervous because of the pageant, but you don’t need to worry, okay? Your hair looks so natural. If I didn’t color it myself, I’d think it was real.”
“Okay. You’re probably right.” Felicity started to relax a little as Rose resumed scrubbing at her scalp with strong, competent fingers. They were both careful. Nobody was going to unearth her secret.
When Felicity’s hair was clean and conditioned, Rose spritzed it with sandalwood oil to hide the smell of the chemicals and blew it dry. She carefully inspected Felicity’s hairline for runaway flecks of dye, then removed her smock and gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze to show there were no hard feelings. “Good to see you,” she said. “I’ll email your mom the bill for today. Congratulations, and don’t stress, okay? You look beautiful. I’ll see you in two weeks, and we’ll recolor all the way to the ends.”
“Okay.” Felicity gave her roots a quick check in the mirror. They looked bright and coppery and natural. She smiled at Rose. “Thanks a lot. I’ll see you soon.”
She boarded the down elevator and rode it to the second floor, where it opened onto a small room made up with mops and brooms and a large corroded sink. The only way it differed from a normal supply closet was that under a sliding section of dirty wall tiles, there was a concealed screen showing video feed from two security cameras in the hall. Felicity saw three men in suits passing by, and she waited in the closet until they were out of sight.
Just as she pushed the door open to leave, her sunglasses slipped off the top of her head and clattered to the floor. She ducked back into the closet to retrieve them, and that was when she noticed something on the monitor that she hadn’t seen before.
There was someone else lurking in the shadows near the stairwell.
Felicity frantically pulled the door closed again, swearing under her breath as it made a louder click than she’d expected. How could she have been so careless? Even as a preschooler, she had known the rule about the video monitor: check twice, sneak once. The door was only open for a second, she told herself. They probably didn’t see you. Just wait here for a minute, and whoever it is will go away.
But the person didn’t leave. Felicity stared hard at the grainy footage, trying to figure out who it was, but all she could tell for sure was that it was a dark-haired girl. For ten agonizing minutes, as she paced around the tiny closet and tried to calm her racing heart, the mystery lurker stayed right where she was. It almost looked like she was watching the closet door, waiting patiently for Felicity to emerge.
Finally, just when Felicity thought she couldn’t take one more minute, the girl pushed open the door to the stairwell and disappeared.
Sweaty and shaking, Felicity slipped out of the closet and hurried out of the Jefferson Building as fast as her legs could carry her. She was still trembling all over by the time she reached her car. She tried to believe there was no reason to be afraid; someone could have been lurking in the hallway for any number of reasons. Maybe she was waiting for a friend. Maybe she was looking something up on her phone. Why assume the worst?
Still, Felicity couldn’t help feeling as if the mystery girl had been trying to catch her in the act of emerging from the closet. And if someone knew she would be in the supply closet of the Jefferson Building after school today, that person probably knew why.
3
TUESDAY, MAY 4
When Felicity arrived at Scarletville High the next day, she ducked her head and hurried inside as if she were fleeing from the paparazzi. Her experience at the salon yesterday had spooked her. She told herself it was just a coincidence and that nobody was following her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
She slowed when she saw a brown-haired boy leaning against her locker. Though she couldn’t tell who it was from the back, he couldn’t be a friend of hers—Felicity didn’t have any brown-haired friends. Perhaps he just wanted to congratulate her on the pageant. She wasn’t in the mood for gushing this morning, but she remembered Haylie’s comment about doing her civic duty. So she put on her best magnanimous smile and approached.
But when the boy turned around, Felicity saw that it was only Jonathan Lyons, the senior who was curating the student art show with her. He was tall and wiry, and he wore glasses with thick dark frames, walking the fine line between nerdy and trendy. Jonathan was an impressive painter, and the smear of green acrylic on the shoulder of his T-shirt indicated that he had already spent time in the school’s art studio that morning. He was probably trying to finish his piece for the show by the submissions deadline. When Ms. Kellogg, the art teacher, had appointed Jonathan and Felicity as curators, she had also guaranteed them spots in the show. Felicity wondered what Jonathan was working on; he was in the other art class this year, so she hadn’t seen any of his recent paintings. Whatever it was, it was sure to be spectacular.
Her forced smile turned into a genuine one. “Hey, how’s it going?” she called.
Jonathan nodded, his glasses slipping down his nose a little. “Pretty good. I just checked the art show cubby in the main office, and we have a ton of submissions. Like, a ton of them. They wouldn’t even all fit in the cubby, and there were CDs piled up in this whole separate box on the floor.” He talked rapidly, as if he were worried Felicity might find something better to do before he finished. “So we have a lot to choose from, which is really great. Do you want to go through all the stuff after school on Wednesday? I mean, if you’re free.” His hands fluttered around like nervous birds, straightening his glasses, slipping into his pockets and out again. They seemed unwilling to settle anywhere.
“Yeah, sure. I can do Wednesday.” Felicity set her coffee cup on the floor and opened her locker door, the inside of which was plastered with postcards of paintings and sculptures by Cézanne, Rodin, and Picasso. A small red envelope fell out and landed at her feet, and she picked it up. It looked like some sort of invitation.
“Okay, great,” said Jonathan. “So, do you want to meet at a coffee shop, maybe? We could go through the submissions on m
y laptop.”
A coffee shop was a bad idea. Felicity liked Jonathan, but being seen with a non-redhead outside of school would be a crushing blow to her red cred. “Maybe we should just use the computer in the art room,” she said, trying to sound casual. “That way, we won’t have to lug all the CDs out of the building.”
“Yeah, sure, okay. That makes sense. I’ll probably finish my piece in class today. Are you almost done with yours?”
While Jonathan was talking, Felicity tore open the red envelope and pulled out a small card. Handwritten in the middle of the creamy stationery were the words
I know your secret, artie.
For a few seconds, Felicity’s heart completely stopped beating. She clutched the card to her chest so Jonathan wouldn’t see what it said. Maybe this was just another version of The Dream and she was actually safe in her bed. Wake up, she urged herself. Everything’s fine. You’re just asleep. She pinched her arm, hard. But nothing changed, and Felicity could only conclude that this time, her nightmare was very, very real.
Images rushed through her mind like a slide show gone haywire, showing her everything she would lose if her secret got out: her boyfriend, her popularity, the respect of all her peers. Even her closest friends probably wouldn’t stand by her if they found out she’d been lying to them about something so important. She might be kicked out of the pageant for having “questionable morals.” Ginger would be crushed, and she might even lose her job in the mayor’s office.
“Felicity?” Jonathan reached out to touch her shoulder, but his hand stopped a few inches short of her and then retreated. “Are you okay?”
“What? Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Felicity shoved the note into her back pocket. Jonathan was still looking at her expectantly, but she couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about.
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