Red(50)

Felicity considered defending her boyfriend’s honor, but it was true—the football team’s main pastimes were insulting each other and having eating and burping contests. “Don’t worry, it’s fine,” she said. “You’re totally right. That truck stop is awful.”

Jonathan looked relieved. “Anyway, it’s just nice that I never run into anyone from Scarletville here, you know?”

“Do you really hate it there that much?” Of course, it made sense, now that she thought about it. The lack of redheads in Caldner made her feel uneasy, so the lack of brunettes in Scarletville must make Jonathan feel the same way.

“I don’t hate it. It’s just … I don’t know. I guess it’s not really my scene, either.” Jonathan’s hand reflexively flew up to fix his glasses, and when he remembered they weren’t there, he smoothed down his hair instead. Just talking about Scarletville seemed to make his fidgety mannerisms rise to the surface, and Felicity was sorry she’d brought it up.

“You must be so excited about the Art Institute,” she said, trying to steer him back into more comfortable territory.

“Oh yeah, definitely. I honestly can’t even believe I got in.”

“I’m not surprised at all. You’re insanely talented. Ms. Kellogg told me she’d never seen a portfolio like yours.”

Jonathan broke into a huge goofy grin. “She said that?”

“Yeah, when we were setting up for the art show.”

“That’s … Wow. That’s awesome.”

Their milk shakes arrived, and Felicity took a long sip of hers. It was absolutely perfect, thick enough that a spoon could stand up in the center but not so solid that she needed to make an embarrassing fish face to get it through the straw. As she closed her eyes to savor her next slurp, she heard Jonathan laugh. “Good, huh?”

She could hardly bring herself to remove the straw from her mouth. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.”

“Just wait till you have the jalape?o cheddar fries.”

She took another rapturous sip. “So, are you nervous about moving all the way to Chicago?”

Jonathan laughed. “All the way? It’s only a five-hour drive.”

Five hours sounded like an eternity to Felicity—Scarletville Community College was only fifteen minutes from her house. She wondered what it felt like to have the freedom to escape, to have some say in what your life would become. “My mom couldn’t handle me being that far away,” she said. “And it would suck not to be able to see my brothers. Won’t you miss your family?”

“Sure. But it’s not like it’s hard to drive back and forth. It’ll be fine. And Chicago’s such a great city. I mean, I can go to the Art Institute and sketch every day if I want. They have a huge Impressionist collection. And there’s so much live music and theater and stuff, and places that actually stay open past nine.”

For the first time, Felicity really tried to imagine leaving Iowa, turning her back on everything she had ever known. She pictured herself walking down busy, unfamiliar city streets, getting lost in crowds of strangers who didn’t think she was special, who couldn’t care less what color her hair was. She’d be totally anonymous. At first, it seemed terrifying, almost impossible to fathom. But beneath her fear, she felt a current of electricity buzzing through her blood at the thought of starting over. Jonathan didn’t look nervous at all as he talked about leaving everything behind. He looked as if his life were only just about to begin.

And just like that, as she watched him, Felicity’s doubts began to fade. Leaving Scarletville and chasing her dream suddenly felt like something she could do. There was a whole new world waiting for her out there.

“What do your parents think about you leaving?” she asked.

“They’re fine with the Chicago part, but they’re not thrilled about the art school thing. They think I should do something more … I don’t know, productive. Be a ‘contributing member of society’ or whatever.” He made exaggerated air quotes around the words.

That sounded painfully familiar. “What do they want you to do instead?”

“They’re both lawyers. Something like that, I guess. Or premed, or business.” He wrinkled his nose, as if the word smelled like rotting fish guts. “The thing is, I think my dad actually gets it. He played bass in this band called Six-Fingered Man before he met my mom. But then they got married and had all of us, and he had to stop, and now he doesn’t play at all anymore. When I first told him I wanted to go to art school, his face kind of lit up, you know?”

Felicity knew. That was the same look her mom gave her every time they discussed the pageant.

Their baskets of fries arrived, and Felicity grabbed a waffle fry and dunked it in the jalape?o cheddar dip. True to Jonathan’s word, the fry was glorious—just the right crispiness, just the right amount of salt and grease. “Oh my God, these are ridiculously good.”

Jonathan laughed. “Try the other kind.”

She complied. The barbecue sauce was sweet and salty and smoky and cinnamony all at once. It made her want to get up and dance. “That’s it. I am never eating anything else for the rest of my life.”

“Right there with you.” Jonathan grabbed a fry and clinked it with Felicity’s as if it were a champagne glass. “To not being at prom.”