Brent’s yawn was so wide it made Felicity think of a snake preparing to swallow its prey whole. “Oh yeah?” he mumbled.
She told him about the submissions—with the exception of the hyenas, of course—and he made noises that indicated he was listening as he stroked her hair. But when she was done talking, he just yawned again and said, “You smell so good.”
She wasn’t sure why she still tried to talk about art with Brent. He had never made an insightful comment on the subject or even asked a question. Felicity always told herself that he wasn’t uninterested in what she did. He was the kind of person who thought in sports metaphors, and he just didn’t know what to ask. Unfortunately, these rationalizations didn’t make her feel any better today. Spending the afternoon with someone who understood art—and seemed to understand her just from looking at what she’d created—had been such a new and enlightening experience. It made Brent’s disinterest seem even more unsatisfying by comparison.
She wished she could at least tell her boyfriend about the hyenas, which she couldn’t seem to banish from her mind. What should she say to Gabby tomorrow? Would she be able to shut down the blackmail scheme before the rest of the school saw her and her best friends depicted as mangy scavengers? If she managed to get her blackmailers to back off, how could she pull the painting from the show without making Jonathan think she was a coward?
But of course, she couldn’t talk about any of that. She sighed. “What’s up with you?” she asked, hoping Brent would come up with a good story to distract her.
“Not too much. Carson and I totally slaughtered Tim and Damien at two-on-two basketball in PE. And Carson and Damien made this bet that whoever lost had to drink six cartons of chocolate milk in ten minutes at lunch. Damien almost did it, but he puked in the courtyard after five. It was so hilarious.”
This wasn’t really the kind of story Felicity had in mind, so she interrupted her boyfriend with a slow, soft kiss. Brent responded eagerly, and within moments, he was running his hands all over her body. Felicity closed her eyes, relieved to be able to switch off her brain for a while.
Half an hour later, she snapped back to reality at the sound of her mom’s voice shouting from downstairs. “Felicity! I need you to take out the recycling!”
She swore under her breath. “Give me a couple minutes, Mom!”
“Now, Felicity. If you put it off any longer, I’m coming up there and dumping these cans in your bed!”
Felicity scrambled to her feet, flushed and disheveled. She couldn’t have her mom bursting in while Brent was there. “You have to go before she finds you,” she whispered, tugging her T-shirt back into place.
Brent groaned, but he didn’t argue. “See you tomorrow,” he said. He kissed her one last time. “You are seriously so awesome.”
“Felicity, you have thirty seconds to get down here!” shouted Ginger.
“See you,” Felicity whispered. “Come on, you have to go now.”
Brent’s exit was much more graceful than his entrance. As he started down the tree, Felicity dashed to the mirror and smoothed her rumpled hair and clothes. She hoped her mom wouldn’t notice how pink her cheeks were.
Feeling a tiny bit hollow, she watched from the window as Brent sprinted across the lawn and out the back gate.
5
THURSDAY, MAY 6
Felicity arrived at school the next day prepared for battle. She had once seen a nature documentary about what to do if you encounter an animal predator while hiking, and she had decided to follow the same protocol regarding Gabby: Make yourself look as large and threatening as possible. Make a lot of noise. Whatever you do, don’t show your fear. Gabby is a mountain lion, she told herself as she walked down the hall. Convince her that you’re dangerous prey, and she’ll find someone else to eat.
When Felicity opened her locker, there were no little red envelopes in sight, and she smiled. It seemed like a good omen.
Gabby arrived at her own locker five minutes later, and Felicity’s heartbeat accelerated as she watched her enemy rummage around for her books. She took a deep breath. Just as Gabby moved to close the door, Felicity looped her arm through her adversary’s in what she hoped looked like a friendly way. “Hey, Gabby,” she chirped.
Gabby looked surprised, but before she could pull away, Felicity dug in her nails and steered her toward the nearest bathroom. “I need to talk to you,” she hissed.
The bathroom was mercifully empty. Felicity checked each stall for feet, just to make sure, then leaned against the door and wedged it closed with her heel. She didn’t want this conversation interrupted by giggling freshmen eager to redo their lip gloss, and being in control of the only exit made her feel safer. Gabby lolled against the sinks across the room, looking totally unintimidated.
“I assume these are from you,” Felicity said in her best authoritative voice, pulling the three little red envelopes from her pocket.
“Impressive detective work.” Gabby surveyed her nails and picked at some chipped polish on her pinkie. “Took you long enough.”
It was incredibly annoying that she seemed so relaxed. Felicity wished she could move closer and shake the notes in Gabby’s face, like they sometimes did on cop shows, but she worried the gesture might come off as ridiculous.
“Why would you write this?” she snapped instead. “It’s obviously not true. You know my hair’s been the same color my entire life. You’ve been in my class since second grade.”
“Just because it’s always been the same doesn’t mean it’s real. It’s that sandalwood perfume you wear that finally tipped me off. For years, every time you walked by, I always thought, God, that smells so familiar, what does that remind me of? And then a couple weeks ago, my mom came home from work smelling the same way, and I finally put it together. It hides the smell of the dye, right?”
Felicity breathed a little more easily. If that was all Gabby had to go on, it might not be so hard to make this whole situation go away. “Are you serious?” she snorted. “That’s your proof? That I wear the same perfume as your mom? I know this might be hard to believe, Gabby, but sometimes, different people like the same smells.” She made a face of exaggerated shock.
Gabby rolled her eyes. “Oh, give it up, Felicity. I can see your roots.”
Felicity’s smile died on her lips, and she struggled against the wave of terror that crashed through her. It took every bit of her strength to resist rushing to the mirror, but she reminded herself sternly that this was reality, not The Dream. She had been to Rouge-o-Rama four days ago, so she couldn’t possibly have roots. Gabby had to be bluffing.
“You think I’m going to fall for that?” she said. “This whole thing is ridiculous. You can’t have roots unless you dye your hair. Which I don’t.”
Gabby shrugged. “Say what you want. But I think my mom missed a little spot this time. Right about here.” She pointed to her left temple.
She looked so serious that Felicity’s mask of calm began to crumble. What if Rose really had missed a spot? There was a first time for everything. Before she could restrain herself, she was across the room, inspecting her hairline in the mirror. Everything looked fine, and for a moment all she felt was relief. Then Gabby snickered, and Felicity realized she’d been tricked.
“I don’t have any roots, you bitch,” she snapped. She stalked back to the door, her face flaming with fury.
“No, you don’t. But you obviously thought you did, which kind of proves my point. Plus, I’ve seen you leaving the salon. Unless you just like to hang out in supply closets for fun.”
Felicity felt unbelievably betrayed. Rose had told her there was no way anyone could know who came to Rouge-o-Rama. And yet here Felicity was, rendered completely powerless by the stylist’s own daughter. “How do you even know where the salon is?” she sputtered. “It’s supposed to be secret. Does your mom know you spy on her clients?”
“Of course not. But she keeps a set of blueprints for the salon at home from when she helped ren
ovate it. It’s right there in her office with the key to the appointment-book code names. She even has her work calendar synced to her home computer. She didn’t make it very hard for me to spy.”
“Isn’t it illegal that you looked at that stuff? Like, invasion of privacy or something?”
“Sometimes you have to break the rules to get information, Felicity. Do you always follow the rules?”
Felicity felt her face grow even hotter. Though she hadn’t technically broken any rules, her whole life as a redhead was one big lie. She was much worse than Gabby, really. You have to get a grip, she told herself. Don’t lie down and let the mountain lion eat you.
She squared her shoulders. “It’s not like anyone would believe you if you told them my hair color was fake. I’m a celebrity around here right now, with the pageant coming up. You couldn’t even get a rumor started. Everyone would think you were just jealous of me. You probably are.”
Gabby adopted the tone one might use to explain something to a dim-witted kindergartener. “Felicity, have you seen how rumors spread in this school? Everyone would believe me. And even if they didn’t, they’d still tell everyone they knew.”
That was a distressingly valid point. Felicity’s popularity was no match for the Scarletville High rumor mill. Everyone was always hungry for a scandal, and a disgraced pageant contestant was even more exciting than a potential winner.
She slumped against the door, her bravado gone. “Does anyone else know? Did you tell your friends?”
“No, not yet.”
That was a relief. “Are you going to?” She hated the desperation in her voice.
“I haven’t decided. Do you have any convincing reasons why I shouldn’t?”
Felicity had hoped she wouldn’t have to resort to groveling, but it was clearly time to abandon her pride. “Seriously, Gabby, I’ll do anything you want. This absolutely cannot get out, or my life will be over. What can I do for you? Do you want money? Do you want me to try to get you into the pageant? I could probably get my mom to pull some strings.”
But Gabby just laughed. “That’s what you think I want? To be in the pageant?”
It did sound a little ridiculous, but Felicity didn’t know what else she could offer. Social status didn’t come with actual power. “I don’t know what you want. I don’t know why you’re doing this to me!”
“I’m not doing anything to you. You’re the one dyeing your hair. All I did was find out about it.”
Gabby was definitely doing something to her, and that something was called blackmail. But Felicity fought the urge to argue. “Okay, so you don’t want to be in the pageant. That’s fine. What do you want? You just tell me, and I’ll work on getting it for you.”
Gabby gestured to the little red envelopes, which Felicity was still clutching in a death grip. “I’ve been very clear about what I want. And you’ve done such a good job of following my instructions so far.” She gave Felicity a condescending little smile. “I’m so looking forward to seeing my painting on the wall of your art show.”
Felicity closed her eyes and rubbed her temples as she imagined what would happen when Haylie and Ivy saw the painting … and when her mom saw it. “Gabby, I’m not opposed to what you painted on principle, and I really do think you’re talented. But people know I’m curating the show, so if I include something offensive, it reflects badly on me. If the pageant judges see your painting, it could jeopardize my chances of winning. Can’t I give you something a little less … public?”
Gabby raised one eyebrow, obviously amused. “What do I care if you win the pageant? How does that affect me?”
“Look, I’m totally happy to put another one of your paintings in the show instead. Maybe you have something more accessible?”
“I don’t want another painting in the show. I want this painting in the show.”
“What if I included two of your other paintings? Nobody else has two submissions.”
Gabby chuckled. “Nice try, but the hyenas are what I’m offering. Take them or leave them. And you know what happens if you leave them.” When she smiled, it reminded Felicity of the face Ivy’s cat made just before he eviscerated a mouse he’d been batting.
She knew she’d have to hang the painting after all. But maybe the backlash wouldn’t be that bad; it was just a piece of student art. If her friends confronted her about it, she could always say it was Jonathan’s choice. “Fine,” she said. “Bring the painting to the squash courts on Tuesday, when we’re hanging the show.”
“Fabulous. I look forward to it.”
The first bell rang. Hoping it would soften her tormentor up a little, Felicity tried to smile and said, “You know, Gabby, I really don’t have a problem with you.”
“Of course you don’t have a problem with me. You don’t even see me.” Gabby grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “We’re done here.”
“So you won’t tell anyone?”
“For now.” She gestured for Felicity to move out of her way.
Felicity stepped away from the door, hating that Gabby was so clearly in charge. Her enemy paused in the doorway and looked back at her. “By the way, your life will not ‘be over’ if this gets out. Don’t be so melodramatic. You may have noticed that my hair is brown, and amazingly enough I’m still very much alive.”
With that, she let the door swing shut behind her, leaving Felicity with only her shame for company.
6
SATURDAY, MAY 8
Saturday was dress shopping day, and Felicity woke in a flurry of excitement. Playing dress-up had always been one of her favorite things. Ginger had wanted to take her shopping, but Felicity had begged for permission to look for dresses with her friends. “Let me surprise you this time,” she’d wheedled. “You’ve taught me so much. You’ll see, I’m going to choose the perfect dress.”
Ginger had gotten teary-eyed at how grown-up her little girl was, and then, to Felicity’s great joy, she had agreed—and handed over her credit card. Felicity had been astonished by her mom’s generosity. She had seen a cell phone bill on the counter just that morning, stamped PAST DUE in big red letters; she knew they couldn’t afford anything extravagant. Money had been especially tight lately. But Ginger had waved away Felicity’s concern. “This is the most important thing we could spend our money on,” she had said. “Go get a dress that will win you that prize money and it’ll all be worth it.”
Haylie sat in the front beside Felicity as they sped toward Iowa City, a stack of formal-wear catalogs in her lap and a huge smile on her face. Ivy huddled in the back, scowling at the cornfields out the window. It seemed impossible that anyone could be in a bad mood on such a beautiful day, but Ivy was dedicated to being annoyed, and she wasn’t about to let gorgeous weather get in her way. She had even brought along her calculus book, a monstrous, twelve-hundred-page symbol of her refusal to have fun. Felicity wondered, as she so often did, how Haylie and Ivy managed to stay friends. They’d had almost nothing in common since Ivy had renounced everything “girly” at the beginning of seventh grade. Though there was a lot to be said for having known someone since preschool, Felicity sometimes feared she was the only glue holding her friends together.
As they sped past the sign at the town limit that proclaimed YOU ARE NOW LEAVING THE RED ZONE, Haylie turned in her seat to watch it recede. Felicity could tell that her friend was a little uncomfortable—none of them left the safety of Scarletville very often. “We need a plan of attack,” she announced to distract Haylie from her anxiety.
Haylie turned back around. “I think we should hit the boutiques first, and if we don’t find anything, we can go to the mall. Though we should probably just go to Cedar Rapids or Des Moines if we don’t find good stuff at the small stores. Department-store dresses always look so cheap.”
“Hays, I’m sure there are great dresses for all of us in Iowa City,” Felicity said. She didn’t have the gas money to drive any farther.
“All I’m saying is that it’s imp
ortant to look our best. This is our last pageant. If I don’t find the perfect gown here, I’m not going to buy something second-rate just to be done with it.”
“I am,” Ivy chimed in. “I’ll wear a dress made out of a potato sack if that’s what’s convenient. Listen, if I find something to wear right away, I’m just gonna go to a coffee shop to study for my math test, okay?”
Haylie looked stricken. “No, you’re not! You have to help us find our dresses!”
In the rearview mirror, Felicity saw a pained expression flicker across Ivy’s face. “Haylie, you do understand that shopping for dresses is the most torturous activity I can imagine, right?”
“We know,” Felicity said. “We really appreciate that you’re doing this. And that you’re doing the pageant at all.”
“If you shop with us the whole day, we’ll let you pick all the movies for our sleepover tonight,” Haylie coaxed.
“All of them? No conditions?”
“No slasher flicks,” Felicity said. “Remember that time we watched The Red Hand of Death and Haylie attacked me in the middle of the night when I got up to pee?”
“Fine. No slasher flicks.” Ivy settled back into her seat looking slightly mollified.
Haylie directed Felicity through the streets of Iowa City until they arrived at the first boutique, Lulu Levine. The two-story brick building was painted flamingo pink, and the sign out front urged passersby to INDULGE YOUR INNER DIVA! Ivy stared at the shop and rattled off a string of profanities before Felicity ushered her firmly through the door.
If a burlesque theater and an antique store had a baby together, the offspring would look like the interior of Lulu Levine. The three girls gazed around with a mix of horror and fascination—every surface was covered with pink sparkles, distressed gold paint, or mirrors. The wallpaper sported textured leopard spots, and the countertops were crowded with china figurines of cherubs and baby animals. All the furniture was strangely undersized, as if it had been harvested before it was done growing.
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