Red(33)
“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.