Red by Alison Cherry
Redheaded women! Those blood oranges! Those cherry bombs! Those celestial shrews and queens of copper! May they never cease to stain our white-bread lives with super-natural catsup.
—Tom Robbins, “Ode to Redheads”
1
SUNDAY, MAY 2
The banner fluttering in the breeze outside City Hall read scarletville, iowa: national redhead sanctuary.
Felicity St. John, who had lived in Scarletville all her life, couldn’t even begin to guess how many times she had encountered the phrase “national redhead sanctuary.” It blasted from her clock radio every morning, repeated over and over by the DJs at Scarletville’s classic rock station, KRED. It was printed under the masthead on the town’s newspaper, the Scarletville Gazette. It was etched onto a plaque on the front of Scarletville High School. And Felicity was probably going to hear the clichéd phrase a hundred times more today.
It was Scarlet Sunday, the anniversary of the founding of Scarletville, and the yearly carnival was in full swing. The lampposts in the center of town were festooned with red flowers, and the breeze carried the popcorn-and-fried-dough smell of celebration. The town was turning seventy-five this year, and the mayor’s carnival committee had really outdone itself. Main Street was lined with food vendors, game booths, and displays of local crafts, as it was every May. But this year, the number of rides in the town square had tripled, and they were significantly more terrifying than usual. Felicity couldn’t even look at the paralyzing vortex of doom called Zero Gravity without feeling slightly ill. Her twin half brothers, on the other hand, had no such qualms. From all the way across the plaza, she could hear Andy’s and Tyler’s seven-year-old voices shrieking with joy as the flying swings whipped them around in dizzying circles. Felicity hoped they would keep their cotton candy securely in their stomachs, but judging from past carnivals, it was highly unlikely.
The mayor must have publicized Scarletville’s anniversary quite aggressively this time around—the dinky local press was there, of course, but there were also representatives from neighboring towns, including a reporter from the Des Moines Register. Right now, all the reporters and a sizable portion of the town’s population were gathered in front of the grandstand, where the mayor was holding a press conference. He was just finishing his opening remarks, using the same speech he always gave on Scarlet Sunday. Felicity and her best friends, Haylie and Ivy, had heard it so many times they could recite it along with him.
“Less than four percent of the world’s population is blessed with red hair, and in my grandfather’s day, those redheads were scattered far and wide across the globe!” boomed the mayor. “And to add insult to injury, these poor scattered redheads were often much maligned in their communities, where they were considered oddballs and curiosities. Our priceless recessive genes would have been bred out of existence within fifty years had no one stepped up to prevent it! But my forward-thinking grandfather saw that we should bond together in solidarity, making precious redheaded children and raising them in a safe, supportive environment. Let’s hear it for Scarletville, our nation’s one and only redhead sanctuary!” The crowd applauded wildly, as it always did.
When the mayor finished the Gospel of Scarletville, reporters peppered him with questions about the town’s history and redheadedness in general. A small blond journalist raised her hand high. “Mayor Redding!” she called. “How would you respond to the accusation that Scarletville discriminates against people with other hair colors, particularly among the younger generations? According to my sources, the student council, the Scholastic Bowl, the cheerleading squad, and several of the athletic teams at the high school are composed exclusively of redheads.”
The mayor’s undersized orange mustache twitched like an agitated chipmunk, and Felicity had to work hard not to snicker. “Of course we don’t discriminate against people with other hair colors,” Mayor Redding said. “We love all our children here in Scarletville. But are we really to blame if we’ve created an environment where redheads can blossom and live up to their full potential?” There were shouts of approval. “Besides, nearly seventy-five percent of the students at Scarletville High are redheads. Statistically, it makes sense that most of our highest achievers would have red hair. Redheads are Scarletville’s finest natural resource!” This was another of the mayor’s pet phrases.
“Do you think Redding can possibly be his original family name?” Ivy whispered. “His grandfather must have changed it back in the day, right? Don’t you think it’s just a little too convenient?”
Felicity shook her head, and her long, sideswept bangs fell into her eyes. “There’s just something about that mustache. I can’t get over it.”
Haylie smacked her on the shoulder. “Don’t bash Mayor Redding. I think he’s adorable.” One of the news vans on the corner crept a little closer, and Haylie eyed it with excitement. “Hey, do you think we’ll be on the news?”
“You won’t, shorty,” Ivy snorted. “All the cameras will be able to see are two little red buns with butterfly barrettes.”
Haylie looked outraged. “Look who’s talking! You’re half an inch taller than me, if that!”