Red

by Alison Cherry

  “Hi,” Felicity said. “Matty, right?”

  The boy looked up slowly, as if it took incredible effort to raise his head three inches. His squash-colored hair fell over his eyes, and he made no effort to brush it away. “Uh-huh. ’Sup.”

  Felicity put on an authoritative voice. “I’m Felicity St. John. The music for my talent sounded a little weird yesterday, so I burned a new CD, and I need you to swap them.”

  She worried for a moment that he’d argue with her, but Matty was far too catatonic to care what she did. He leaned sluggishly to the side like a melting snowman, providing her access to the box of CDs on the table. Felicity slipped into the booth and swapped the discs, stuffing the old one into her bag. “There,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “Uh-huh.” Matty righted himself and returned to his book.

  “Hey, listen,” Felicity said. “When you play this, someone might come running up here to tell you it’s the wrong music, but it’s not. Don’t let anyone turn it off, no matter what, even the people in charge. Okay?”

  Matty shrugged one shoulder and mumbled something that might have been “Whatever.” Felicity wasn’t sure her comment had registered, but there was nothing else she could do. She headed backstage.

  The dressing room reeked of hair spray and hot curling irons and was packed with pageant volunteers, mothers, and contestants in various states of undress. The sickly-green linoleum floor, fluorescent lights, and rolling costume racks were hardly glamorous, but they were familiar to Felicity from past pageants, and the sight of them made her relax a little. Ginger was nowhere to be found, so Felicity checked in with Brenda, then found an empty spot at the mirrors next to Haylie. Her friend was sitting perfectly still in one of the orange plastic chairs, eyes closed and earbuds in, oblivious to the chaos around her as she did breathing exercises.

  As she did before every competition, Felicity lined up her beauty supplies in tidy rows on the table: magnifying mirror, hair spray, curling iron, round brush, bobby pins, tissues, makeup, antistatic spray, Topstick fashion tape, lint brush, sewing kit, stain stick, and a Sharpie for blacking out unexpected scuffs on her tap shoes. Seeing everything laid out neatly made her feel safer, like she had some small measure of control over the day.

  Ivy found her as she was digging through a costume rack for her personal introduction outfit. “It’s completely insane out there,” her friend said, eyes wide. “Is it like this every year?”

  “Pretty much.” Felicity found her outfit and extracted it. “Are you nervous?”

  “I wasn’t before, but I am now. I’m kind of afraid people are going to mob the stage and start speaking in tongues or something.”

  “Is Darren coming?”

  “Are you kidding? I’d never subject him to a pageant.”

  “Hey, Ives?” Felicity said. “Thanks for going through with this. I know how much you hate being here.”

  Ivy shrugged. “It’s okay—it’s not that big a deal. I know how important it is to you and Haylie. And it might be fun for the audience to see something a little different up there for once.”

  Cassie bounded over to retrieve her costume. She looked as if she’d had a play date with a jet engine and then dipped her head in shellac. “Wow, Cass,” Felicity said. “Your hair is … really something.”

  “Isn’t it?” Cassie spun around to show off the back, which resembled a mound of cotton batting that had been gnawed by rats. “My stylist said messy was all the rage this year.”

  “Is her stylist a category-five hurricane?” Ivy muttered under her breath, and Felicity tried to cover her giggles with a coughing fit.

  They were headed back toward the mirrors when Felicity noticed Ariel, the pageant’s token strawbie, sitting across the room and roughing up the bottoms of her new heels with sandpaper. Her long straight hair fell around her shoulders like a curtain as she leaned forward over the shoes, and Felicity was surprised by how beautiful it looked. All the other girls were mingling and chatting, but everyone looked right through Ariel as if she were invisible. When she thought back, Felicity realized she hadn’t seen anyone speak to Ariel during the rehearsals, either. She certainly hadn’t made any effort to do so herself, despite the fact that underneath a coat of dye, they were exactly the same.

  She was no better than the rest of Scarletville. No matter what Felicity’s new music said, she would be a cookie-cutter girl until she stopped acting like one.

  “Go ahead,” Felicity told Ivy. “I’ll be right there.” And before she could think too much about it, she marched over and sat down next to her fellow strawbie.

  “Hey,” she said.

  Ariel looked up, surprised, and glanced over her shoulder. When she finally determined that the greeting was intended for her, she gave Felicity a tiny, puzzled smile. “Hi?”

  Felicity realized too late that she had nothing to say, and a long, awkward silence stretched between them. Finally, she blurted out, “So … how’re you feeling about this whole … thing?”

  “I’m so excited, but I’m really, really nervous. You have any tips? You were so great in Miss Ruby Red—I still remember that dance you did, with the feathers on your costume? You totally should have won over Madison.”

  Felicity smiled. “Thanks. Don’t worry, you’re going to be fine out there. It’s all about confidence. Even if you have no idea what you’re doing, just act like you do, and everyone will believe it.” That’s what I do every day of my life. “What’s your talent? I didn’t get to see yesterday.”

  “Scottish Highland dancing. I’m doing a sword dance.”

  “A sword dance? Like, with real swords?”

  “Yup.” Ariel reached into her duffel bag and pulled out two long blades, and Felicity recoiled. “It’s okay, they’re not sharp. And I don’t swing them around like a ninja or anything. I just put them on the floor and jump over them a lot.”

  Across the room, Haylie finished her meditation and flickered back to life, and she beamed and waved when she spotted Felicity. “I should go get ready,” Felicity told Ariel. “But break a leg today.”

  “Thanks.” Ariel flashed her first genuine smile, and it lit up her whole face. “Kick Madison’s butt this time, okay?”

  Felicity returned to her table, and Haylie jumped up to hug her. “I am so ready for this,” she squealed. “I feel like I’m totally in the zone, you know?”

  Before Felicity could respond, Madison brushed by. “Hey, Felicity, I meant to tell you yesterday that your dance costume is super cute. I used to have a jacket just like that, with a big sparkly heart on it. I think I was in … second grade?” She gave a simpering smile and flounced away, her curls bobbing in an excellent imitation of Georgia Kellerman’s.

  “Don’t let her get to you,” Haylie said. “Your tap costume is cute.”

  Felicity sighed; her stupid costume was the only thing she hadn’t been able to fix at the last minute. “No, she’s right. That heart is hideous.”

  “There’s nothing you can do about it now, so just try to forget about it,” Ivy said. “You only have to wear it for three minutes.”

  “Hey, can I use this?” Haylie asked, reaching for Felicity’s lint brush. She bumped the black Sharpie, which fell off the table and rolled across the linoleum. As Felicity bent to pick it up, she froze, suddenly struck by a flash of inspiration.

  There was something she could do about the jacket.

  “Felicity?” Haylie asked. “Can I—”

  “Yeah, go ahead,” Felicity said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  She snatched her tap costume off the rack and took it into one of the three individual bathrooms off the dressing area. She could hear someone retching in the next stall—a common occurrence on pageant days—and tried her hardest not to listen. Sitting cross-legged on the tile floor with her jacket spread over her knees, she uncapped her Sharpie and very carefully started blacking out jewel after jewel.

  Ten minutes later, the center of the heart was adorned with a large bla
ck skull and crossbones.

  “Take that,” Felicity whispered, not entirely sure if she was speaking to Ella-Mae Finch, the pageant judges, Gabby, or her mother.

  Fifteen minutes before the pageant began, Felicity was fastening her lucky shamrock necklace when her mom bustled in, clad in a gold cocktail dress. “The dressing room is now closed to visitors,” she announced. “Family members and friends, please wish your girls luck and take your seats in the auditorium. Enjoy the pageant, everyone!”

  After a flurry of emotional good-byes, Ginger gathered all the contestants in a circle. “This is the moment we’ve been waiting for, girls,” she said. “You’re all ready for this, so hold your heads high, be proud, and respect yourselves and each other. I want to see humble winners and gracious losers out there.” She didn’t bother to say, “All of you are winners,” as most pageant directors would. She clearly didn’t believe that for a second.

  “All right, everyone, hands in the middle,” she directed, and the girls squished together, piling up their manicured hands. “ ‘Go, Miss Scarlet’ on three. Ready? One, two, three!”

  The girls shouted, “Go, Miss Scarlet!” no one louder than Ginger. “Five minutes till lineup, ten minutes till showtime!” she called as everyone flew back to their mirrors for last-minute touch-ups. Felicity’s stomach gave another lurch when Ginger blew her a kiss from the doorway, her smile full of warmth and pride. For a mad moment, she considered chasing her mom into the hallway and spilling out all her secrets. I’m not the sweet, obedient daughter you think I am. I don’t even like pageants. I can’t stand your music, so I’m using my own. I tampered with the interview questions. Oh, and I’m about to fight my blackmailer in front of the whole town, even though you explicitly told me not to.

  But confessing wouldn’t change anything—it would only make her mom hysterical. These were burdens she had to carry alone. But in just a few hours, it would all be over. Her hand automatically sought her right hip, where Jonathan’s note had been nestled all week, before she remembered she had no pockets in her skirt. She felt strangely unmoored without the little square of paper.

  Haylie reached out to take Felicity’s and Ivy’s hands. “I love you guys,” she said, her voice weighty with emotion. “No matter what happens out there, I’m just so glad we’re all here together.”

  “Love you too,” Felicity said. She squeezed Haylie’s hand. “Break a leg out there. You too, Ives.”

  “You probably shouldn’t say that,” Ivy said, looking around at everyone’s spiky heels. “I wouldn’t be surprised if someone actually did.” True to her word, she was wearing flats.

  Before she headed upstairs, Felicity took a last long look at her reflection. Her royal-blue blouse and black pencil skirt were crisp and wrinkle-free. Her makeup looked perfect, and her hair was as red as it had ever been. She gave a practice smile, and the girl who beamed back at her from the mirror looked relaxed, confident, eager to command the stage. She thought of Gabby sitting in the press section, prepared to expose her at any moment, but her reflection betrayed no anxiety. Her pageant-girl mask was flawless.

  “Time to show everyone what you’re made of,” she whispered to herself.

  The girls filed up the stairs and into the wings, an army of high heels punching the hardwood floor. When they were all lined up, Haylie in the lead and Madison in the rear, Brenda spoke into her headset. “I have all twelve girls stage right, ready to go. Stage left, do you have Ginger, Georgia, and the emcee?” There was a pause, and then Brenda said, “Great. Let’s get started. Send Ginger out.”

  Light flooded the stage, and Felicity watched her mom step up to the lectern, grinning and waving with both hands as the entire auditorium erupted in cheers. “Good afternoon, Scarletville!” she called. “I’m Ginger St. John, pageant director and the head of the Scarletville Pageant Committee! Welcome to the seventy-fifth-anniversary Miss Scarlet Pageant! The twelve spectacular girls you’re about to see are upholding a time-honored tradition today. They have some very big shoes to fill, but I have no doubt they’ll rise to the challenge.”

  She introduced each of the five judges, and wave after wave of applause and cheering crashed through the auditorium. It sounded like there were thousands of people in the house. Felicity could feel the adrenaline starting to pump through her body, and she shook out her hands to release some nervous energy. In front of her, Ariel was breathing in shallow little gasps.

  Ginger handed the microphone to the emcee, Donna Marie Sullivan, who had been crowned Miss Scarlet ten years ago. She stood at least six foot three in her heels and shimmered like a mermaid in her iridescent turquoise gown. Donna Marie explained how the pageant was scored—thirty percent for the interview portion, forty for the talent portion, and ten percent each for the personal introduction, swimwear, and evening wear portions. Then she introduced Georgia, who bounced onstage in a little black dress and belted out “Our Sacred Scarlet Home.” The crowd roared its approval, and then Felicity saw Brenda tap Haylie on the shoulder and nod toward the stage.

  It was time.

  A fast pop song blasted through the speakers, and Donna Marie shouted, “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you this year’s Miss Scarlet contestants!”

  Radiant smiles in place, shoulders back, and chins held high, the girls looped around the stage, waving at the packed house and trying not to squint under the bright stage lights. The walk lasted only about ninety seconds, but Felicity heard voice after voice screaming her name. By the time she was back in the wings, her heart was pounding in her ears. She had forgotten how scary and thrilling it was to be onstage in front of so many people.

  When it was time for her personal introduction, she strode toward the microphone, trying to radiate confidence and enthusiasm. She smiled at the judges first, then scanned the cheering crowd, taking stock. There was her mom, sitting next to the judges’ table and grinning so broadly Felicity feared her face might shatter. There was the mayor, his tiny mustache twitching with excitement. There was Gabby in the press section, her pen flying over her notepad. There were Andy and Tyler, sitting with her neighbor Victor a few rows back and waving madly. There in the back was a bored-looking Brent, his arm wrapped around the skinny shoulders of Gretchen Williams. There was Ms. Kellogg with a group of teachers.

  And there, sitting just in front of her, was Jonathan.

  Jonathan, who had no Scarletville spirit. Who couldn’t care less about pageants.

  Who was smiling at her now as if they were the only two people in the room.

  Felicity’s stomach did a little twirl, and it had nothing to do with being nervous.

  She forced her eyes back to the judges and gripped the microphone. With a bright smile, she said, “Hi, everyone! I’m Felicity St. John. I’m seventeen years old, and I was born right here in beautiful Scarletville. I was first runner-up in the Miss Ruby Red Pageant when I was twelve. This year, I was the cocurator of the student art show and served on the prom committee, for which I designed all the decorations. I also helped organize and run the winter recital at Red Shoes Dance Studio, where I’ve been a student since I was three. I’m so excited to be here, following in my mom’s footsteps as I compete for the title of Miss Scarlet.” The crowd cheered, and Felicity made sure to smile at each judge individually before she turned and walked into the wings.

  She headed downstairs to the dressing room, walking slowly so she’d have a moment alone to think. Why was Jonathan here? Had he come to see her? Tickets had gone on sale long before the two of them were friends, so maybe he was here for another reason entirely. But the way he’d smiled at her just now made her doubt he was here for someone else. The memory of it made her feel tingly all the way to her fingertips. His presence also anchored her somehow—having him here in person was so much better than carrying his note in her pocket. Everyone else was looking at her sparkly facade, but she knew Jonathan was looking at the real Felicity behind the mask.

  She found her swimsuit—black with white polka dots,
just like her prom dress—and joined Haylie at their table. “How’d your intro go?” Haylie asked as she tied her turquoise bikini top.

  “Good, I think.” Felicity unbuttoned her blouse and stepped out of her skirt, then draped a robe over her shoulders before swapping her underwear for her bikini. “How was yours?”

  Ivy rushed into the dressing room and grabbed her swimsuit off the rack. “A whole bunch of swim team girls are here,” she said, obviously distraught. “They’re wearing these stupid T-shirts that spell out ‘Go, Ivy, go!’ It’s so embarrassing.”

  “Only you would be upset that people came to cheer for you.” Felicity started applying Topstick to her butt.

  Ivy gave her a horrified look. “Are you taping your suit to your ass?”

  “Yeah, everyone does. There are some things the entire town doesn’t need to see.”

  “There’s nothing worse than a wedgie onstage,” Haylie stated with great authority.

  Ivy shuddered. “I sincerely hope I never have to experience that firsthand.” She pulled on her full-coverage tank suit, which was emblazoned across the chest with the Scarletville High School Rubies logo. As Haylie rolled her eyes, Ivy accessorized her outfit with flip-flops, a rubber bathing cap, and goggles.

  Brenda called six minutes to lineup, and Felicity went over to inspect herself in the full-length mirror. She stretched and shimmied for a minute, making sure her tape held and everything stayed securely in place. When she glanced around the room, she found that nearly half the girls were wearing shades of turquoise. Cassie’s suit was covered in ruffles, as if she were going underwater salsa dancing, and Madison was struggling into something that looked more appropriate for the bedroom than the pool. No one else had a pattern on her suit, and Felicity smiled, pleased that her polka dots would stand out.

  It wasn’t until she was standing in line in the wings that she realized she was about to parade out onstage, nearly naked, in front of Jonathan. Somehow, the hundreds of other people in the audience didn’t bother her—the swimsuit competition had never seemed scarier than walking around at the public pool. But even when Felicity was fully dressed, the way Jonathan looked at her was sometimes so penetrating that she felt unclothed. Her palms started to sweat, and she wiped them on her bare thighs as she watched Ariel pose and turn.