Red

by Alison Cherry

  “So, the hyenas didn’t ruin your life after all. Imagine that.” Gabby wedged her heel against the door, blocking it shut.

  “Actually, you might not believe this, but I kind of like your painting, now that I’ve had a chance to really look at it,” Felicity said. “It’s clever.”

  “Thanks. I like your piece, too, for what it’s worth. It’s very … enlightening.”

  Felicity blushed as she realized Gabby was the only person at the show who completely understood her sculpture. Jonathan got the basic idea, but it took on a whole different meaning for someone who knew about her hair. “Thanks,” she muttered.

  “So, let me get to the point,” Gabby said. “You’ll be nominating me for prom queen at the assembly tomorrow.”

  Felicity felt the blood drain from her face, and the room suddenly felt colder. “What? But I promised I’d nominate Haylie, and we only get one nomination each!”

  “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

  There were plenty of other people who would be willing to nominate Haylie. She had lots of devoted friends. But Felicity knew she would never be able to explain nominating Gabby. Her recent behavior had already made Haylie suspicious; this would only confirm that something strange was going on. Besides, pulling a stunt like that would be terrible for her red cred. Brunettes were rarely nominated for prom queen at all, and they were never nominated by redheads. “Can’t you get one of your own friends to nominate you? I don’t see why it has to be me.”

  Gabby shrugged. “You don’t have to understand it. You just have to do it.”

  Felicity was suddenly struck with an idea, and a single ray of hope pierced through her panic. She squared her shoulders and looked Gabby right in the eye. “If you make me do this, I’ll tell your mom you’re blackmailing her clients,” she said. “She’ll never let you get away with it. She’s legally bound to protect our secrets.”

  To Felicity’s horror, Gabby just laughed. “First of all, I’m not blackmailing her clients, plural. I’m blackmailing you. And my mom would never believe you. I’ll just tell her you’re spreading malicious rumors about me because you hate brunettes. Who do you think she’s going to trust? Her artie client, who pays her to lie, or her own daughter?”

  “I can prove it. I still have those notes you put in my locker. She’ll recognize your handwriting.”

  Gabby’s look hardened. “Felicity, if you make my life difficult in any way, I will make sure my mom drops you as a client.”

  Felicity almost snapped back, “If you do that, I’ll tell everyone your mom runs the salon,” but she quickly realized she could never follow through on that threat. What would she do without Rose? Dye her own hair? She had no idea how to mix the right shade of red. How would she explain it when she screwed up and her hair changed color overnight?

  If Gabby turned Rose against her, it would all be over. Felicity opened her mouth but found she had nothing more to say.

  Gabby gave her a toxic little smile. “That’s what I thought.” She turned to go.

  “Nobody’s going to vote for you for prom queen, you know,” Felicity called after her. “I don’t understand why you’d even want to be nominated. SHS has never had a brunette prom queen, not even once. People are just going to laugh at you.”

  Gabby’s eyebrows jumped up in surprise. “I don’t think I’m going to win. I’m not delusional. This isn’t about winning.”

  “Then what’s it about? Making my life miserable? Can’t you at least tell me what I did to deserve this? I mean, I’ve never bullied you or teased you or anything, and there are plenty of other people who have. So why are you taking it out on me? I’m sorry for whatever I did, if that’s what you need to hear.”

  “You didn’t do anything.” As Gabby pushed the door open, Felicity could have sworn an expression of pity flickered across her face. “This isn’t about you, either.”

  The door swung shut, and Felicity stood alone in the gloomy bathroom, wondering what Gabby could possibly mean. How could this not be about her? The whole point of blackmail was to control people and extort things from them. Gabby had the control thing down, but why would she bother to extort things that didn’t even benefit her? Her chances of being prom queen were lower than her chances of spontaneously combusting. There had to be an ulterior motive, and Felicity had no idea what it could be.

  Her hands balled into fists as a wave of fury swept through her. She was sick of letting Gabby walk all over her for reasons she didn’t understand. If Gabby’s vendetta wasn’t personal, that made things even worse. It was one thing to pay for your mistakes and quite another to suffer when you were totally innocent.

  She had to fight back somehow. Maybe she could counter with blackmail of her own. Gabby had to have a secret—everyone had something to hide. But there was nothing she could do before first period tomorrow. If Felicity didn’t cooperate at the assembly, Gabby would tell everyone she was a strawbie, and her life would be over. It was as simple as that.

  For now, there was a more pressing issue at hand: what was she going to tell Haylie? Could she concoct a story about how prom committee members weren’t allowed to make nominations? No, her lie would be exposed the moment Madison Banks nominated one of her fellow cheerleaders. Should she go straight to Ivy and ask her to nominate Haylie instead? Ivy was less likely to get angry, but she’d probably ask a lot of unanswerable questions.

  Felicity knew that if she didn’t leave the bathroom soon, her mom would start to worry and come looking for her. She’d have to think of a solution while circulating through the art show. So she put on her pageant smile and made her way back out into the crowd, her head spinning with questions.

  When she returned to the squash courts, Felicity was greeted with the strange sight of her teacher talking to her mom. Ginger’s eyes looked a little glazed, and she was gazing slightly past Ms. Kellogg, as if she were searching for a more interesting focal point. Felicity paused just outside the door, where she could listen to their conversation without being spotted. “I hope you know how talented she is,” she heard her teacher say. “Her sculpture shows so much artistic promise.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Ginger leaned down and busied herself with brushing cookie crumbs off of Tyler’s face.

  “She should definitely think about pursuing art as a career. She seems interested, and I’d be happy to help with her art school applications when—”

  “Thanks,” Ginger said, cutting her off. “We really have to be going.”

  “Oh. Of course. Well, if you and Felicity would like to meet with me sometime and discuss options, just let me know. Here’s my card.”

  Ginger walked away with a sour look on her face, both twins trailing behind her. “Oh, there you are, baby. I was just coming to look for you. I need to get the boys home.”

  “Sure,” Felicity said. “Were you talking to Ms. Kellogg in there?”

  Ginger rolled her eyes. “That woman has a lot of nerve, telling me what you should do with your future. I’m your mother. I’m the one who knows what’s best for you, not some strawbie from God-knows-where.”

  Felicity swallowed hard. She hated contradicting her mom, but the topic had already been broached—she might as well go all in. “Actually … I think I might be interested in art school.”

  “Baby, that’s totally impractical. You need to study something that will prepare you for a real job. And even if it made sense, you know we could never afford it. Scarletville Community College is a very respectable school, and that beautiful hair will get you in tuition-free.”

  “But that’s what financial aid is for. Lots of people can’t afford school and still manage to go.”

  Ginger’s look darkened. “Felicity St. John, this family does not accept charity from anyone. If you want to move up in the world, you have to do it yourself. I grew up with practically nothing, but I worked my fingers to the bone, and I bettered myself, and I made sure I could provide my children with a good life. So don’t
you dare throw it all back in my face by acting like a spoiled brat who expects everything to be handed to her on a silver platter.”

  Ginger’s words stung, but Felicity tried not to show it. “I don’t expect that, Mom. And if you’d let me get a job, I could—”

  “Your job is to prepare for the pageant. That’s the most important thing. So from now on, I need to see you focusing on that. This art show has been nothing but an enormous distraction. You have to keep your eye on what really matters, Felicity.” She started propelling the twins toward the exit, signaling that the conversation was over. “I’ll see you at home. Come on, boys.”

  Felicity stood in the hall, listening to the fading clicks of her mother’s heels and willing herself not to cry. It didn’t surprise her that her mom had shot down her dream without even considering it, but that didn’t make it hurt less. All her mother cared about was the stupid pageant and the stupid crown and the stupid title and the stupid prize money—

  Wait. The prize money. Felicity had always assumed that if she were crowned Miss Scarlet, she’d turn her winnings over to her mom. But she’d have no legal obligation to do that. She would turn eighteen just a week after the pageant, and then she’d have total control over the money. She’d have options. It wouldn’t be enough to pay for art school, but it would be a good start.

  Since she was a little kid, her mom had been telling her that winning the pageant could change the whole course of her life. Now, for the first time, that actually felt true.

  Felicity returned to the squash courts with her mind reeling. She was so distracted that she almost walked right by Haylie and Ivy, who were parked in front of the hyena painting, talking in intense whispers. Felicity took a deep breath and joined them. “Hey, guys. I’m so glad you came,” she said, trying to sound as upbeat as possible.

  Ivy smiled, but Haylie’s expression was less than welcoming. “Did you personally pick out everything in this show?” she asked.

  “Me and Jonathan, yeah.”

  “Was this seriously the best thing that got submitted?” Haylie pointed angrily at the hyenas. “You didn’t have any other options?”

  “No, I mean … yeah, there were other options. But this is actually pretty impressive.”

  Haylie looked outraged. “How is this good? This is so offensive! Did you not notice that the drooling hyena is supposed to be me?”

  Felicity had seen this conversation coming, but watching Haylie react this way was more upsetting than she’d expected. “Of course I noticed. All of us are in it. But, Hays, it’s just a satire, not a personal insult. If you can get past the concept, it’s actually really funny.”

  “Get past the concept? The concept is me! I don’t understand how you could let her represent us this way in public so close to the pageant!”

  “People always say there’s no such thing as bad publicity,” Ivy chimed in.

  “Haylie, I swear I’m not trying to sabotage us,” Felicity said. “You know I care about the pageant.”

  “That’s why I don’t get how you could do this! Or did you just choose it ’cause it’s Gabby’s? What is up with you and Gabby lately, anyway?”

  Felicity struggled to keep her voice even. “What are you talking about? Nothing’s up with us. I barely know her. And Jonathan and I picked the pieces blind. Try to separate yourself and actually look at it, Hays. It’s really clever. She got all the little details right. Look at how Lorelei’s bra strap is hanging out of her dress. Look at how my bangs are falling in my eyes like they always do. And look at that hideous paisley dress she put Ivy in. It’s kind of hilarious.”

  “It is,” Ivy agreed. “I’m not Gabby’s biggest fan, but she’s obviously talented.”

  “It’s just a commentary. We all know there are people who don’t like the pageant. They should get to express themselves, too.” That came out sounding more patronizing than Felicity had intended, so she added, “Come on, look at the insane beehive hairdo on Lorelei. Tell me that’s not awesome.”

  Haylie’s face softened a little as she inspected the towering mass of hair. “Yeah, okay. That part’s kind of funny. What do you think Lorelei will do when she sees it?”

  “Are you kidding? There’s no way Lorelei’s going to come to the art show.” Ivy grabbed Haylie’s arm and steered her away from the painting. “Come on, let’s go see Felicity’s sculpture.”

  “You’re not mad at me, are you?” Felicity asked Haylie. “I would never offend you on purpose. You know that, right?”

  “I guess,” Haylie said grudgingly.

  Felicity knew it was nothing compared to how she would sound tomorrow after the nomination assembly. You have to tell her, a little voice in the back of her head commanded. The longer you wait, the worse it’s going to be. But when Haylie gave her a small, fragile smile, Felicity knew she couldn’t hurt her friend again right now. Two blows in five minutes might be too much for Haylie’s goodwill to withstand.

  As soon as they reached the doorway of the second room, Ivy broke into a grin. “Oh wow, that’s yours, isn’t it?” She hurried over to the sculpture. “Felicity, this is so awesome.”

  “Thanks.” Felicity felt her cheeks flush with pride.

  “It’s amazing,” Haylie agreed. “So much better than Gabby’s. How did you make it? Is this papier-mâché?”

  As Felicity described the process, her friends circled her sculpture, looking at it from every angle, from close up and far away, just as Jonathan had. When she was done explaining, Haylie looked at the label on the statue’s pedestal. “Skin-Deep. This is what you were talking about the other night, right? How you’re afraid people think you’re something you’re not?”

  Felicity wanted to kiss her. “Yeah, exactly. My mom and Brent totally didn’t get it.”

  “How could they not get it?” Ivy asked. “The title makes it really clear.”

  After such an emotionally taxing night, her friends’ support and understanding made Felicity’s eyes well up. “Thanks, guys,” she said, hoping they wouldn’t notice the catch in her voice.

  “For what?”

  “For … getting me, I guess. For understanding my sculpture.”

  Ivy and Haylie exchanged perplexed looks. “Of course we get you,” Ivy said. “We’re your best friends.”

  Felicity smiled at them, but she couldn’t help wondering if they’d still be her best friends by this time tomorrow.

  “You’d find it easier to be bad than good if you had red hair,” said Anne reproachfully. “People who haven’t red hair don’t know what trouble is.”

  —L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

  8

  FRIDAY, MAY 14

  Felicity got to school half an hour early on the day of the assembly and headed straight for the auditorium in an effort to avoid her friends. So she was dismayed when the first person she saw was Haylie, waiting just outside the auditorium doors. At the sight of her friend’s excited face, Felicity’s guilt wrapped around her lungs like an anaconda and squeezed tightly. Tell her, tell her, tell her, the guiltaconda demanded. This is your last chance.

  “Hey!” Haylie cried, throwing her arms around Felicity. “Ready to get nominated?”

  “Absolutely.” Felicity swallowed hard. “Why’re you here so early?”

  “Vanessa wanted to talk to me about the final order for the dance show. It’s so ridiculous—we’ve already changed it like eight times. And now I can’t even find her.” Haylie shrugged. “So, is your mom excited that you’re getting nominated for prom queen? Mine was totally freaking out this morning.”

  Felicity knew she had to explain what was about to happen. Haylie would be furious, but at least she’d be prepared. Maybe she could even find someone else to nominate her. Felicity struggled to take a deep breath. “Haylie, there’s something—”

  “Felicity, is that you?” Madison’s voice echoed through the empty auditorium. “Come help me with this banner.”

  Haylie giggled at Felicity’s expression, interp
reting her distress as hatred for Madison. “Go! It’s fine. We’ll talk later, when we’re both prom queen nominees!” With an ache in her stomach, Felicity watched her friend go. After this assembly was over, Haylie might never smile at her again.

  Felicity tried to make up for her impending betrayal by being extra helpful to Madison—maybe everything would balance out in the grand, karmic scheme of things. They hung the PAINT THE TOWN RED banner, set up the prom committee’s chairs on the stage, and unwrapped the red roses they’d present to all the female nominees. By the time they had finished setting up and the rest of the committee had arrived, students were trickling in, chattering excitedly and making last-minute nomination plans. Felicity sat down onstage and watched Haylie and Ivy enter the room, followed closely by Gabby. All three of them waved at her, and she wondered if it was possible to throw up without having eaten anything.

  When everyone was assembled, Madison stepped up to the podium and beamed at the applauding crowd as if her heart were full of puppies and bonbons. “Thanks, everyone!” she chirped. “Welcome to this year’s prom court nomination assembly! Let’s start with the girls. I’ll begin. I, Madison Banks, nominate Georgia Kellerman for prom queen.”

  “I, Chelsea Barrington, second the nomination for Georgia!” called another cheerleader.

  Georgia stood up and smiled as if she had just been nominated for an Academy Award. “Thank you so much. I accept your nomination.” Everyone cheered as she did her shampoo-commercial walk up to the stage, received her rose from Madison, and performed a little curtsey.

  Felicity was so nervous she could barely pay attention to the five cheerleaders who were nominated next. She prayed someone would come to her rescue and nominate Haylie; then she could claim she had decided to nominate Gabby at the last minute as an act of charity. But everyone was too busy nominating their own best friends to pay attention to hers.

  The world seemed to slow down and recede when she finally saw Haylie stand up and say, “I, Haylie Adams, nominate Felicity St. John for prom queen.”