“You’ll never lose us,” said Haylie. “We’re your best friends.”
“I know what you mean, though,” Ivy said. “It’s super stressful dealing with so much stuff at once.”
You have no idea what I mean, thought Felicity. But she just said, “Yeah, it is.”
Haylie rolled toward her and rested her head against Felicity’s shoulder. “You totally deserve everything you’ve got, silly. You’re a smart, talented, gorgeous redhead, and you can’t fake that stuff. It’s not like you’re in the art show and the pageant by accident. You got picked ’cause you’re the best.”
“Unlike me, who’s in the pageant one hundred percent by accident,” Ivy said, smacking Haylie on the leg. “If someone’s a fraud, it’s me.”
Haylie kicked her back. “Shut up! This isn’t about you. Felicity, I promise you don’t have to worry. You’re so amazing! And everyone will forgive you if you’re not perfect all the time. Nobody expects that.”
Felicity nodded, even though she knew nobody in Scarletville would forgive her if they found out what she really was: a cheater and a liar and a secret strawbie. But she just leaned her head against Haylie’s and doubled her resolve to do everything Gabby demanded of her. She couldn’t lose her friends’ faith in her, no matter what it cost.
7
THURSDAY, MAY 13
As promised, Gabby delivered her hyena painting to the squash courts the day Jonathan and Felicity hung the art show. Her canvas was absolutely enormous—it required fifteen heavy-duty adhesive strips to affix it to the wall—and the colors were even brighter than they had appeared on the CD. Some of the neon paint had glitter in it, lending it an extra kitschy touch. Though Felicity hung it in the most inconspicuous location possible, it still screamed for attention. To her dismay, there was no conceivable way it would escape anyone’s notice.
But by the time the art show actually opened, Felicity had seen the painting so many times that she had grown used to it. She was grudgingly shocked to find that the longer she looked at it, the funnier it became. In addition to being a talented artist, Gabby was clearly very observant. She had captured the little wrinkle that always appeared between Haylie’s eyebrows when she was concentrating hard, and the Lorelei Griffin hyena wore its dress off the shoulder to reveal a pink bra strap, just as the real Lorelei often wore her shirts. Felicity started to realize that the painting wasn’t meant to be cruel. It was simply a satire, and it was a good one.
Felicity showed up half an hour early for the gallery opening to help set up the refreshments. Ms. Kellogg was already there when she arrived, teetering on insanely high heels as she cut cheese into little cubes. The cheese was flecked with some sort of herb, which made it look fancy and intriguing.
Ms. Kellogg looked fancy, too. Her shoes had sparkly buckles the size of golf balls, and her strawberry-blond hair was swept up in a complicated twist. Felicity wasn’t sure exactly what her own natural hair color was, but judging from her baby pictures, it was probably about the same shade as her teacher’s. A lot of students blatantly disrespected teachers who weren’t redheads, but Ms. Kellogg’s hair color made Felicity feel a connection to her.
“Hey,” Ms. Kellogg called when Felicity entered the room. “You look fantastic!”
“Thanks.” Felicity smoothed the skirt of her little black dress and smiled. She was probably overdressed, but it couldn’t hurt to look too good. Besides, she wanted this art show to seem authentic, and she’d seen enough movies to know that you were supposed to wear little black dresses to gallery openings. Since Ms. Kellogg was wearing a cocktail dress, too, she felt like she’d made the right choice. Her teacher had gone to school in New York City, the heart of the art world, so she probably knew what she was doing.
“I’m really impressed by what you guys have done with the show,” Ms. Kellogg continued as she peeled the plastic wrap off a wedge of Brie. “It looks very professional. And your sculpture is so, so beautiful. Have you considered applying to art school next year, like Jonathan?”
Felicity had always assumed she’d go to Scarletville Community College, like her mom, but lately she’d started imagining what it might be like to go to art school instead. This was the first time she had heard someone else voice the possibility, and her heart gave a little flutter. The prospect of creating beautiful things as a job was so thrilling that it almost seemed dangerous to consider. “Could I really do that, do you think?” she asked tentatively.
“Oh, absolutely! You’re very talented. I think you’d thrive there.”
Felicity felt a bubble of happiness expanding in her chest. Ms. Kellogg didn’t give compliments unless she really meant them. There was no redhead privilege going on here, and Felicity felt like she’d finally done something worthy of praise. “Thank you so much,” she said. “Where is Jonathan going?”
“The Art Institute of Chicago. He really deserves it—I’ve never seen a portfolio like that from an eighteen-year-old. I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned it. He’s the first student from Scarletville ever to get in there.”
“We don’t really talk about personal stuff,” Felicity said. “I mean, we’re friendly and everything, but we’re not friends friends.”
“That’s too bad. I think you two have a lot in common.”
As if on cue, Jonathan hurried into the room. He was wearing a blazer over a band T-shirt, jeans, and Converse sneakers, which made Felicity wonder if she was overdressed after all. “Hey,” he said. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Speak of the devil.” Ms. Kellogg popped a cheese cube into her mouth. “I was just telling Felicity how awesome the show looks. You guys really have an eye for this.”
“Thanks,” Jonathan said. “It was fun. Working with Felicity and everything.” He gave her a quick, shy smile.
They had just finished arranging the crackers and cookies on platters when the first artists and parents arrived, and Ms. Kellogg went into hostess mode, shaking hands and raving about how talented her students were. Felicity stood alone by the food table, nervously tugging on the hem of her dress. The show was out of her hands now. Her sculpture was sitting on a pedestal in the other room, waiting to reveal her secrets. And everyone was about to see the hyena painting, including her mom and her best friends. Felicity wiped her damp palms on her skirt, praying she wouldn’t have to take too much of the blame.
Jonathan appeared next to her, holding out a champagne flute filled with sparkling cider. “To controversial art,” he said, as if he had read her mind.
She took the glass and clinked it against his. Despite his awkwardness, she felt a little calmer with him by her side. “It looks good, doesn’t it?” she asked.
It might have been her imagination, but she thought she caught his eyes dipping down to the low neckline of her dress for a moment. “It looks awesome,” he said.
The St. Johns were among the first to arrive, their approach heralded by Andy’s and Tyler’s voices echoing down the hall. They were belting out their favorite song, which was about slimy fish guts. Felicity smiled as she heard her mom trying in vain to quiet them.
“LISSY!” Andy shouted when he caught sight of her, his voice amplified to three times its normal volume by the squash court. He barreled into her side, and Felicity nearly spilled her cider all over Jonathan’s shirt. Tyler burrowed into her other side, and she gulped down her drink so she’d have an arm free to hug each twin.
“You like the fish guts song, right?” Tyler asked. “Mom hates it.”
“I think it’s the most disgusting song ever,” Felicity told him.
“Disgusting is awesome,” Andy proclaimed. Jonathan laughed, and Andy beamed.
“These are my brothers,” Felicity said. “Guys, this is my friend Jonathan.” The word “friend” came out of her mouth effortlessly, before she had time to think about it.
Jonathan smiled at the twins. “I like the fish guts song,” he said, immediately securing their eternal loyalty. They slipped out from under Felicity’s arms
and gravitated toward him like planets orbiting a star.
“Hi, baby,” Ginger called, her heels clopping loudly on the shiny hardwood floor. She planted a kiss on Felicity’s temple, then glanced around at the walls. “Oh wow, look what you’ve done! This looks so professional, Felicity! I can see why it took so much time away from practicing for the pageant.”
Felicity bit back her annoyance at the double-edged compliment. Her mom rarely showed any support at all for her art, and she knew she’d have to take what she could get. “I’m really glad you guys came,” she said.
“Mom, look! Cookies!” Andy rushed to the refreshments table as if he’d never seen food before, Tyler close at his heels.
“Maybe that’ll keep them occupied long enough for me to take a quick look around,” Ginger said. “We can only stay for a few minutes. Can you keep an eye on them?”
“Yeah, sure. My sculpture’s in the other room, if you want to see it,” Felicity said. “This is Jonathan, by the way. He curated the show with me.”
Ginger looked surprised to find Jonathan standing two feet from her, as if her eyes were unable to focus properly without something red to latch onto. “Oh, nice to meet you,” she said dismissively before bustling off to do a quick circuit of the room.
Felicity hoped Jonathan hadn’t made the connection between his hair color and Ginger’s rudeness. “Sorry, I think she’s pretty distracted. My brothers can be really exhausting,” she said.
“Don’t worry. I have two sisters and a brother. I know how it goes.” Jonathan drained the last of his cider and watched Felicity’s brothers investigate how many cookies they could stuff into their mouths at once. “So, there’s this gallery in Des Moines that’s exhibiting a bunch of huge sculptures, and I saw a couple on the website, and they looked like they had some papier-mâché parts. So I thought, you know, you might be interested.”
“Yeah, that sounds cool. Thanks. I’ll check it out.”
“Actually, a couple of friends and I were thinking about driving down to see them. If you wanted, maybe you could, um, come with us … ?”
Before Felicity could answer, she heard a low whistle behind her, similar to the wolf whistles she sometimes got walking past construction sites in shorts. When she turned around, indignant, she discovered Brent leaning against the doorjamb. “Wow, babe, you look hot,” he said, giving her the same look of hungry appreciation he usually reserved for the chocolate caramel clusters at Crimson Confections.
Felicity gave Jonathan an apologetic smile and went to hug her boyfriend. She resented the wolf whistle, but the fact that he was actually here canceled out some of her annoyance. Although she’d told him about the art show countless times, she had never expected him to show up. She put her arms around his neck and let him run his hands over her hips, and she heard Jonathan’s footsteps retreating behind her.
The moment Brent released her, he shot a dirty look at Jonathan across the room. “What were you talking about with that guy?”
“Jonathan? He was just telling me about this gallery in Des Moines.”
“Looked like he was asking you out or something.”
“What? No! Of course not. I mean, he invited me to go see this exhibit with him and his friends, but that’s not the same as asking me out.”
Brent’s jaw stiffened, as if he were trying to bite through a stick of stale beef jerky. “He looked all nervous.”
“He always looks like that. It has nothing to do with me.”
“But you’re not going with him, right?”
“I haven’t decided. He just asked three seconds ago.” Felicity reached out and touched Brent’s cheek. “Hey, I won’t go if you don’t want me to, okay? It’s really not a big deal.” But even as the words came out of her mouth, she heard how wrong they sounded. If she wanted to go to the gallery, she should go. Brent shouldn’t be allowed to tell her what to do.
“You want to go to the gallery with me instead?” she teased, trying to lighten the mood. “Then I won’t have to go with Jonathan.”
Brent opened his mouth to respond, but having to choose between two horrors—allowing his girlfriend to go out with another guy or driving all the way to Des Moines to see art—left him speechless. Felicity laughed, unable to stay mad at him when he looked so clueless. “Why don’t we walk around?” she suggested. “I’ll show you my sculpture.”
“Yeah, okay.” Brent squeezed her butt. “This dress is seriously awesome. You should wear stuff like this all the time.”
She led Brent across the hall to her sculpture. Her mom was already there, circling it slowly and inspecting all the tiny pictures up close. As soon as Brent saw her, he stood up a little straighter and quickly moved his hand up to Felicity’s waist. “Hi, Mrs. St. John, how’re you doing tonight?” he asked, morphing into a wholesome all-American boy. Brent had always had a way with parents.
“I’m great, Brent, honey. Thanks for asking.” Ginger wound a strand of coppery hair around her finger and batted her eyelashes, and Felicity had to stifle the urge to gag. She really wished her mother wouldn’t flirt with her boyfriend. Then again, Ginger would probably flirt with a Christmas tree if it had a red wig perched on the top.
“What do you think of the sculpture, Mom?” Felicity asked, trying to redirect her mother’s attention.
“Oh, Felicity, it’s just wonderful. Look at all these tiny pictures of you! It must have taken you ages to glue them on here. And you look so gorgeous in all of them!” Ginger peered closely at an image on the sculpture’s knee. “Can I have a copy of this one for my desk at work, baby? Your hair looks so striking. You should start using this as a head shot.”
Felicity wasn’t surprised that her mom was fixated on the sculpture’s bright shiny skin and couldn’t see the piece as a whole, but she was disappointed nonetheless. “Okay. I’ll make you a copy. But you’re not really supposed to look at the photos separately. It all goes together.”
“It’s such a great shot of you, though. They all are. My beautiful girl. I’m so proud of you.” Felicity’s mom beamed at her.
Brent was taking cues from Ginger and looking at the individual photos from a few inches away. “This is really awesome, Lissy,” he said.
“Thanks.” In an attempt to give them both a clue, she said, “It’s called Skin-Deep.”
Brent nodded. “Oh, ’cause the pictures, like, make a skin? That’s cool.” He walked around and looked at the back of the sculpture’s head. “I can’t believe you made this. It totally looks like a real artist did it.”
Felicity assumed Brent had meant to compliment her, but the comment still stung. “I am a real artist, Brent.”
“No, I mean … you know what I mean. Like, a professional.”
A burst of her brothers’ laughter drifted across the hall, and Ginger straightened up. “Did you leave the boys alone?”
“I’ll go check on them.” Felicity headed for the other room, eager to put as much distance as possible between her mom, her boyfriend, and herself.
The boys were by the food table, right where she’d left them, deep in conversation with Jonathan. “Do you know what we’re going to be when we grow up?” she heard Andy demand as she approached.
Jonathan furrowed his brow in mock concentration. “Let’s see. Firefighters?”
“No!”
“Hairdressers?”
Andy opened his eyes wide in horror. “Eew, no!”
“What, then?”
“Paleontologists! We’re gonna discover new kinds of dinosaurs, and then we’re gonna be famous. And then we’re gonna buy planes with red lightning on the wings!”
“Sounds awesome,” Jonathan said. “I’m going to be a painter. Will you fly me to my art shows in your planes?”
Tyler looked panicked. “We don’t know how yet!”
Felicity laughed. “Thanks for watching the boys. I was supposed to be doing that.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. They’re great.” Jonathan held out his hands, and the t
wins slapped his palms, each trying to outdo the other in enthusiasm.
Felicity was just starting to feel relaxed again when she spotted Gabby across the squash court. She was standing near the hyenas and wearing a bright orange dress that no redhead could possibly pull off—if Felicity put it on, she’d look like a safety cone. But it looked elegant against Gabby’s long dark hair, which was loose around her shoulders. It was almost as if she were flaunting the fact that her hair wasn’t red.
When she saw Felicity, she gave a little nod, then held up her phone. Felicity had no idea what she was trying to signal, and she shot Gabby a confused look. Gabby rolled her eyes, then pointed back and forth between the phone and Felicity.
Oh—Gabby wanted her to check her phone. She dug it out of her sequined handbag and found a text.
Unknown number: meet me in the bathroom by the weight room, 2 minutes.
Felicity felt her stomach plummet. She already had enough on her plate tonight—she really didn’t need the added stress of another confrontation with Gabby. How had Gabby even gotten her phone number? She tried to act normal as she handed the twins off to her mom, then excused herself and headed toward the weight room.
All four of the faucets in the bathroom were dripping, creating an eerie soundscape. Felicity considered trying to turn them off, but the plumbing in this bathroom was notoriously sketchy, and she was afraid to touch the knobs in case one of them sprayed her dry-clean-only dress. Instead, she leaned against the wall farthest from the sinks and waited for her enemy. Her heart tripped along as if it were trying to match the uneven dripping of the water.
Gabby finally arrived, her dress glaring like a road flare against the gloom. She seemed to be in a good mood and gave Felicity an uncharacteristically wide smile. “The show looks good,” she said.
Felicity tried to seem relaxed. “Yeah, I’m happy with how it turned out.”
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