Red(4)

“I don’t want you to help me! I want you to tell the committee what you did and get me out of this! Felicity, you can have my spot.”

“Shut up, Felicity’s going to have her own spot!”

Felicity wasn’t so sure that was true. She barely caught the next two names over her friends’ commotion, but neither of them was hers. There were only four slots left now.

Ivy stuffed a wad of the abused cotton candy into her mouth. “What am I supposed to do for my talent? I can’t very well swim the butterfly or do advanced math in a pageant.”

“You’re really good at walking on your hands,” Haylie suggested.

“You’re a virtuoso on the kazoo,” added Felicity. She tried to read her mom’s face again so she could tell if her name was among the last four. She wished they had worked out some sort of secret hand signal in advance. Raise your right eyebrow and tug your ear twice if I’m in. Mime slitting your throat if I’m out.

“Great,” said Ivy. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, just to spite you guys. I’m going to walk on my hands while playing the kazoo. In my freaking ball gown. I’m going to make a complete spectacle of myself, and you’ll be sorry you ever filled out that application.”

“You don’t wear your gown for the talent portion,” Haylie pointed out.

“Amber Neilson!” called Felicity’s mom.

Three names left. Felicity’s heart was beating so fast it felt as if there were a hummingbird trapped inside her rib cage.

And then her mom looked straight at her and winked. “Felicity St. John!”

Felicity’s knees almost buckled as a wave of relief swept through her. She was in. She had lived up to everyone’s expectations, including her mom’s. Haylie danced around, screaming, “I knew it! I told you!” then smashed Felicity into another group hug.

Ginger called the last two names—Jessie Parish and Savannah King—and then invited the twelve contestants up to the grandstand to take a bow. Ivy tried to escape into the crowd, but Haylie clamped a hand around her wrist and dragged her toward the stage. For such a tiny girl, Haylie was surprisingly strong, and Ivy seemed to realize that resistance was futile.

Felicity brought up the rear, accepting kisses, high fives, and shoulder squeezes from her friends and acquaintances as she snaked through the crowd. Everyone seemed to want to touch her and congratulate her. Though her mom had always kept her in the limelight, hoping to ensure her popularity, being so visible had always made Felicity uncomfortable. It seemed strange that anyone cared about her personal business. Sometimes she longed to hide in the shadows for a change.

“Felicity!” Her boyfriend, Brent, was fighting his way out of the tiny ring toss booth he was manning to raise money for the football team. She paused as he jogged toward her, his crimson jersey billowing in the breeze. When he reached her, he swept her up in a hug and spun her around, knocking her into several other people. “Congrats, sexy. Knew you could do it.” Brent was economical with his words, as if he were always texting instead of talking. He rarely said anything longer than 140 characters.

“Thanks,” said Felicity. Brent twined his hands through her wavy hair and gave her a kiss, and her stomach fluttered, just as it always did when he touched her. He was very attractive, with floppy auburn hair, dimples, and football-toned muscles. Felicity just wished she liked him a little more. He wasn’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box, and it was impossible to pretend otherwise. But he adored her, and there wasn’t any other boy in Scarletville she liked better. Every time she considered ending the relationship, it seemed like more drama than it was worth.

Brent held her tightly around the waist and clearly had no intention of releasing her any time soon. “Um, I’ve gotta go up onstage now,” Felicity reminded him.

“Oh. Right. Come by my booth later? I’ll give you a couple free tosses.”

“Sure.” She kissed him one more time, then gently pulled free and headed toward the grandstand.

As she walked by the sunblock vendor, Felicity passed a group of her brunette classmates, all of whom were staring at her coldly. She smiled at them—she tried to be friendly to everyone, regardless of their hair color—but their stony expressions didn’t change at all. “This pageant is so lame,” Gabrielle Vaughn said to Marina Rios, loudly enough to ensure that Felicity heard her. “I can’t believe I have to write about this crap for the Crimson Courier.”

“Why are you so pissed? It’s just another newspaper assignment. It’s not like any of us entered.” Marina flicked her dark ponytail over her shoulder.

“The point isn’t that we want to be in it,” Amanda Westin said. “The point is that even if we did, this stupid town would never let us.”

“Exactly. It’s not like that herd of redheads up there is any smarter or prettier or more talented than we are. Trust me, we deserve the recognition and the prize money a lot more than some people.” Gabby met Felicity’s eyes with a look so hostile it was like being doused with a bucket of ice water.

“Come on, Felicity!” Haylie called.

Felicity followed her friends, but she wasn’t paying attention to the crowd around her anymore. A pit had opened deep in her stomach, and all her relief about being named a contestant was spiraling into it like bathwater down a drain. As she made her way to the grandstand, she could feel a dozen brown eyes on her back.