Red(13)

Savannah stroked Topher’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Toph, you can dress up for prom.”

“Prom will be nothing but a disappointment unless I can borrow Cassie’s dress.” Topher looked at Cassie with big, pleading eyes. “Cass? What do you think?”

“Honey, if you can fit into it, you can wear it,” said Cassie, and everyone but Madison laughed.

Despite her ambivalence about the committee, Felicity was genuinely excited about prom night—she had never been to a formal event that didn’t involve being judged. Brent was sure to look spectacular in his tux, and they were meeting Haylie, Ivy, and their dates beforehand for dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant. Post-prom, they were throwing a party in Haylie’s backyard. Ivy was going with Darren, the captain of the boys’ swim team, who had been quietly pursuing her for months. Haylie’s date was Lorelei Griffin’s older brother, Ryan, who was the drummer in a band called The Crucial Douches. Felicity hoped Haylie would dispose of him after prom. His band was shockingly bad, and she didn’t want to have to feign enthusiasm for their screamy, atonal “songs.”

“Guys, can we please have our meeting?” snapped Madison. “We have a lot to talk about, and I have to get to cheerleading practice.” She sounded exasperated, as if this were the forty-fifth time she had called them to order instead of the first.

Felicity rolled her eyes and sat down next to Savannah and Kendall Forsythe, a senior from her art class. She tried to keep her mind from wandering as Madison ran through the items on her agenda, but it was a losing battle—she had no interest in deposits, dessert platters, printing costs, or sound systems. After forty-five minutes, Madison finally released them to meet with their subcommittees, and Felicity, Savannah, and Kendall headed to the art studio.

This year’s theme was “Paint the Town Red,” and Felicity had suggested a 1920s look. She’d designed an Art Deco–style cityscape backdrop to cover one of the gym walls, and the other three would be draped in gauzy red fabric she had borrowed from the drama department. They were renting replica 1920s streetlamps from a theatrical-supply company, and they planned to hang red paper lanterns between the basketball hoops and along the tops of the bleachers.

“God, I’m so glad you’re in charge of the decorations this year,” Kendall said as they unrolled the half-finished backdrop on the floor. “Last year was just embarrassing. The theme was ‘Moulin Rouge,’ but the dumb-ass strawbie designer made a New York City skyline and an Eiffel Tower and put them up on the same wall.”

Savannah piled her long coppery hair on top of her head and stuck a pencil through it to keep it from falling into the paint. “How did a strawbie even get to be the designer in the first place?” she asked.

“Who knows? But it’s not a mistake we’ll be making again any time soon. Right, Felicity?” Kendall gave her a wide, friendly smile and offered her a paintbrush.

Felicity’s stomach clenched. “Right,” she said, accepting the brush. “Of course.”

“Speaking of embarrassing, how did Ariel Scott get into the pageant?” Savannah asked. “Her hair is practically blond.”

“They always put one strawbie in,” Kendall said, echoing Ivy’s words from Scarlet Sunday. “Jillian Wells competed last year, remember?”

“I don’t get that at all. It’s the Miss Scarlet Pageant. Hey, should I start painting this part at the bottom, Felicity?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Felicity tried to focus on painting, which usually soothed her, but it was impossible to relax. She couldn’t very well stand up for Ariel, but joining the strawbie-bashing seemed equally awful. “Don’t worry, Ariel won’t win,” she finally said.

“Damn right she won’t. Not with us in the picture.” Savannah rewarded her with a grin. “Hey, did I tell you guys I’m singing ‘Red-Letter Day’ by Invisible Stallion for my talent?”

Felicity stayed quiet as Savannah and Kendall chattered on. She wondered whether either of them would ask her why a bunch of brunettes had been sitting at her lunch table, but nobody brought it up—fifth period was eons in the past, and new gossip had already eclipsed the old. Felicity spoke up only to answer questions about the drop, which was taking shape exactly as she’d planned. The girls deferred to her opinions automatically, letting her artistic vision guide their hands.

If they only knew they were taking orders from another “dumb-ass strawbie designer,” Felicity thought, her life would be over.





4


     WEDNESDAY, MAY 5


Felicity was terrified to open her locker. She was staring at the metal door, trying to imagine what fresh hell might be lurking behind it, when Haylie and Ivy arrived.

“Are you okay?” Ivy asked, reaching for Felicity’s mocha. “You look pale, even for you.” That said a lot—Felicity’s complexion was almost transparent. You could read the road map of her veins right through her skin without even trying.

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I just haven’t been sleeping well.” Felicity took a deep breath and spun the dial on her lock. Her hands were trembling so much that it took her three tries to get the combination right. When the lock finally clicked, she said a silent prayer and pulled open the door.