Red (10 page)

T
he rest of the day was a little slice of hell.

When the bell rang for lunch, Felicity headed for her usual table in the cafeteria, ready to apologize, plead, and prostrate herself at Haylie’s feet. But she stopped short halfway across the room when Ivy caught her eye and gave her the patented Locklear Look of Death. Haylie stiffened, clearly aware she was there, but she kept her back turned and showed no signs of yielding. It was too early for forgiveness.

Felicity sighed and looked around for somewhere else to sit. She usually didn’t mind that she and Brent had different lunch periods, but she really could have used him today. She needed a big hug and some unconditional adoration.

“Felicity! Over here!” She turned around and saw a table overflowing with sophomore girls, an explosion of flat-ironed red hair, miniskirts, and fur-topped boots. They were indistinguishable from one another; if one of them had mugged Felicity, she couldn’t have picked the perpetrator out of a lineup. A few of them beamed and waved, and the rest giggled in unison. Felicity waved back halfheartedly and retreated a few steps.

“Is it true that you totally trashed Haylie Adams at the assembly this morning?” the bravest one called. Another chorus of giggles followed.

It was unbelievable how fast information spread. Felicity had never spoken to any of these girls, yet here they were, discussing her personal business. “No, of course not,” she snapped.

“It’s okay, we get it,” another clone said. “She’s your competition now, right?”

“I’m not going to discuss this with you.” Felicity turned to leave.

As she walked away, one of the girls called, “Do you want to sit with us? We really love your outfit!”

“We hope you win the pageant!”

Felicity breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted an empty seat between Kendall and Savannah. “Do you mind if I sit here?” she asked, already sliding into the chair.

“Of course not.” Kendall scooted her bag over to make room. “How’re you holding up?”

“Haylie’s still pissed at you, huh?” Savannah said. “She’ll get over it.”

Felicity unwrapped her sandwich and took an angry bite. “Is anyone talking about
anything
besides me and Haylie? I just got grilled by a bunch of sophomores I don’t even know.”

Kendall shrugged. “All you pageant girls are like royalty right now. Of course people are going to dissect everything you do. Every entry we got for the lit mag this quarter was about the pageant except one. We’re having an entire pageant-themed issue.”

“What’s the other one about?”

“I’m not actually sure. Cocaine, maybe? But it also could have been about skiing.”

A smiling Gabby passed their table, and the very sight of her made Felicity’s stomach twist into a pretzel. The moment she was out of earshot, Savannah leaned in close. “What you did this morning was really ballsy, by the way. Are you trying to make some sort of statement? Or are you guys actually friends?”

“No, we are
not
friends.” Felicity glanced over at the table across the room where her real friends were laughing at a joke she’d never hear. A pang of sadness and anger stabbed through her.

“Why’d you do it, then?”

Felicity sighed. “I’m sorry, but could we not talk about it? It’s been a really awful morning.”

Savannah and Kendall seemed disappointed, but to Felicity’s relief, the conversation quickly turned to Miss Scarlet gossip. Jessie Parish was allegedly having her dress custom-made at a shop in Des Moines, financed by her wealthy Southern grandmother, who wanted Jessie to be a debutante. Savannah wondered whether it would be boring to wear white orchids in her hair for both the prom and the pageant. Kendall had heard that Ariel was going to wear the same dress for both events, a plan everyone found outrageous. When Savannah shrugged and said, “Well, let’s be honest, how much can you really expect from a strawbie?” everyone laughed, and Felicity had to stuff her mouth with sandwich to disguise her reaction. That was exactly how people would see her if they ever found out about her hair. And that was why she had to protect her secret at all costs, no matter what she had to trade for Gabby’s silence.

But as she watched Haylie and Ivy sharing their daily pack of Skittles, a tiny splinter of doubt started working its way through her resolve. How much more lying and betrayal could she stand? At some point, would protecting herself stop being worth it?

Felicity tried Haylie’s cell three times on Friday night, but the calls went straight to voice mail. She could barely stand to listen to the outgoing message, which Haylie had recorded while the two of them were together at the mall. She and Haylie had been friends since preschool, and they had never had a major fight. Was it possible to destroy a fourteen-year relationship with one mistake?

When she finally managed to fall asleep, things got even worse—for the first time, Felicity had The Dream twice in one night. After waking to the sound of her own screams at two a.m. and again at four-forty-five, she lay awake for what seemed like an eternity, wondering how she could gain the upper hand with Gabby. She finally brought her ancient laptop into bed with her, signed into RedNet—Scarletville’s social networking site for redheads—and sifted through hundreds of photos from parties and school events. Just one shot of Gabby drinking, smoking, or hooking up with someone embarrassing might give her a bit of leverage. But nobody on RedNet socialized with brunettes, so Gabby didn’t appear in a single picture.

Felicity finally drifted off at dawn, only to be ripped from her peaceful cocoon of sleep two hours later, when her mom burst into her bedroom. “Rise and shine, morning glory!” Ginger chirped. “We have work to do!”

Felicity opened one eye, then quickly shut it against the assault of sunlight that stabbed through her brain like a shish kebab skewer. “What?”

“I’m giving you a pageant coaching session this morning, remember? We’ve got to whip that tap routine of yours into shape if you’re going to win. You’ve been letting the pageant fall by the wayside, and it’s time to make it your first priority! Up, up, up, lazybones!” She smacked Felicity’s butt.

Felicity groaned in protest and sat up, pushing her tangled mass of hair out of her face. “Isn’t it unfair to the other girls if you give me special private coaching?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I already handled it.”

“What does
that
mean?”

“Well, if you must know, I took a hundred dollars out of your bank account. That way, you can just say you hired me if it becomes an issue. Anyone can pay me to coach them, so it’s totally aboveboard.”

Felicity stared at her mom in horror. “That’s all my Christmas money! I was going to go to Cadmium Paints and—”

“Felicity, this is more important than whatever else you were going to spend it on, okay? If you win the pageant, I’ll happily give it all back. Now, get up and get your tap shoes. I’ll make you a blueberry waffle.”

Felicity dragged herself out of bed, enveloped in a fog of resentment. Her mother became a drill sergeant when she was in pageant-coaching mode, and Felicity wasn’t prepared to deal with that or with her tap routine on just a few hours of sleep. The routine itself wasn’t the problem—the choreography was impressive, and it showcased her abilities well. But the music her mom had forced on her was another story.

In a moment of nostalgia, Ginger had insisted that Felicity dance to the same song she had used for her own tap routine in the pageant twenty-five years ago. Seventeen-year-old Ginger had tapped to a big-band classic called “Red Is the Color of My Heart,” sung by jazz legend Ella-Mae Finch. Everyone knew the song, which often played in department stores and dentists’ offices, but Felicity didn’t know anyone besides her mother who actually
liked
it. It was maudlin and saccharine, exactly the opposite of Felicity’s personality. She had put up a fight, but Ginger was persistent and had talked of almost nothing else for ten days straight. Finally, Felicity had chosen surrender over losing her mind.

At Ginger’s urging, she had learned the routine over winter break, long before Miss Scarlet applications were due. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she still knew the choreography, but it was hard to practice when Ella-Mae’s crooning made her wish she were deaf. The last time she’d given the routine more than a cursory run-through was weeks ago, and she knew her mom wasn’t going to be happy when she discovered how much Felicity had been slacking.

Felicity dressed in a tank top and yoga pants and stumbled downstairs. Before she’d even finished her waffle, Ginger whisked her plate away and announced, “Time to get started! Go on down to the basement. I’m going to make sure the boys are okay helping Victor in the yard, and then I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Felicity shivered as she descended into the clammy air of the basement. The room smelled vaguely of cat litter, though they hadn’t had a cat since she was in seventh grade. The sunlit living room would have made a cheerier rehearsal space, but she couldn’t very well tap on the carpeting. Soon Ginger appeared with a sunny smile on her face. She cued up Felicity’s music on her iPod, which she connected to the speakers. “You ready, baby?” she asked.

“As ready as I’m going to be.” Felicity struck her first pose.

The opening trumpet riff began, and she started dancing, trying to block out Ella-Mae’s voice and concentrate on the steps. Ginger, on the other hand, swayed to the music with a blissful expression on her face and hummed along:

Red is the color of my kissable lips,

and red is the color of my heart.

Red is the color of the pain I endure

whenever life keeps us apart.

Red is the color of my passion for you,

it’s been this way right from the start.

Red is the color of my sizzlin’-hot love,

and red is the color of my heart.

Felicity’s muscle memory kicked in, and at first the routine went surprisingly well. But when she reached the difficult series of Maxie Ford turns near the middle of the second verse, she stumbled and lost her place. Ginger clapped to emphasize the downbeat and shouted, “Shuffle ball change! Cincinnati flam! Come on, Felicity, pick it up!” But once Felicity lost the flow, she had a hard time getting back into her groove. Even when Ginger started tapping along with her, she didn’t get back on track until close to the end of the song. Her last sets of scissor wings were crisp and impressive, but when she struck her final pose, she wasn’t surprised to find her mother scowling at her.

The fog of resentment receded, and panic rushed in to take its place. She should have practiced more, regardless of what she thought of Ella-Mae. If she performed like that at the pageant, her art school dream would be dead in the water faster than she could say “national redhead sanctuary.” Plus, she had made her mother furious, and she wasn’t about to get away with it.

“What was
that
?” Ginger demanded. “Have you been practicing at
all
? God, Felicity, I’d have kept a much closer eye on you if I’d known things had gotten this bad! You are
really
far behind, and you’re going to have to work your little butt off to get back in the running!” She massaged her temples.

Felicity squirmed, amazed at how small her mom could make her feel. “Mom, it’s going to be fine. I’ll work harder. I’m just a little rusty, that’s all. But the pageant’s not for two weeks, so I have plenty of time to get it perfect, and I will. I swear I’m not going to embarrass you.”

“You’d better not. How does it look if the pageant director’s own daughter can’t even stumble through a three-minute routine?” She thumped the table where the speakers were sitting for emphasis. “Jesus, you can do
so
much better than that, and you know it. You could win if you just
worked
harder! But you have to want it, Felicity. The judges have to see that fire in you. Do you want to win? Do you care at all about helping this family, after everything I’ve sacrificed for you? Or are you just going to let this prize slip right through your fingers? Because if you’re not willing to work, I’m wasting my time trying to help you.”

Felicity looked deep into her mother’s eyes and saw the fear that lurked behind the anger. It wasn’t just her own dream that was on the line. Ginger had put everything she had into preparing her daughter to be Miss Scarlet. And now that dream was crumbling to pieces, and it was all Felicity’s fault.

Felicity swallowed hard. “I want to win,” she said.

“Good. Then let’s get to work.”

If there was one thing Ginger knew how to do, it was whip a pageant girl into shape. For more than a decade, nearly all the pageant mothers in town had hired her to coach their girls. But business was lagging this season, as all the other parents feared Ginger might sabotage their daughters in favor of her own. As Felicity practiced her Maxie Ford turns over and over, she cursed the fact that she was being subjected to twelve girls’ worth of attention. But she also had to admit that her mom’s methods worked wonders. Two hours later, she was drenched in sweat, and her tap routine was flawless.

“That’s enough for now,” Ginger finally said. “Let’s take a quick break, and then we’ll work on your walks and poses and your personal introduction. Go get the rest of your competition shoes.” She handed Felicity a water bottle and a towel, then patted her sweaty back. “You really pulled it together, baby. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Felicity said. Much as she hated to admit it, her mom’s approval made her feel better.

While Ginger checked on the twins, Felicity went up to her room to retrieve her heels—black ones for her personal introduction, red ones to go with her swimsuit, and silver ones to match her evening gown. She also checked her voice mail, but there were no messages, and her email in-box was empty, too. She tried not to let it bother her too much; Haylie probably just needed some time to cool down. But Felicity couldn’t help feeling as if she had done permanent damage to their friendship.