Red(62)

“Thank you so much,” she said.

Arthur flipped on the office lights. “Now, let’s see what we can find.”

Felicity’s relief flickered out like a birthday candle in a strong wind. The gold envelopes on the desk beckoned to her. All she needed was ten seconds alone with them. But Arthur was feeling around on the tops of the filing cabinets and didn’t seem likely to leave. If she got him to turn his back, maybe she could make the swap with him in the room. Felicity gripped the replacement envelope in her bag, waiting for her moment of opportunity. “I was sitting over there by the window,” she said.

Arthur took the bait. As soon as he lumbered over to search the window ledge, Felicity lunged toward the box on the desk and whipped Gabby’s envelope out of her bag. For a moment, her brain couldn’t even process what she saw. One entire edge of the precious replacement envelope was covered with a gooey stain. With mounting panic, Felicity tore open the front pocket of her bag and saw that her strawberry kiwi lip gloss was missing its top. There was sparkly pink slime everywhere.

“Crap,” she muttered, stuffing the envelope back into the bag.

“What’s the matter, honey?”

“My stupid lip gloss opened up all over my bag.” Felicity’s mind raced. Now she would need to start the computer, retype the fake interview question, find a new envelope, and make the switch before her mom finished her meeting. And that meant she needed to be alone right now.

While Arthur still had his back turned, Felicity closed her sticky fist around her car keys and slipped them behind a picture on her mom’s desk. “Oh, here they are,” she exclaimed, forcing a laugh. “God, I’m always leaving these everywhere. I need to put a tracking device on them or something.”

“Keys are so mischievous, aren’t they? Sneaky little buggers.” Arthur trudged toward the door. “Ready to go?”

“Sure. After you.” On her way out, Felicity pushed the button on the doorknob that kept the lock from engaging, then pulled the door shut behind her. “You’re my knight in shining armor, Arthur,” she said. “Thanks so much for the help.”

“It was my pleasure. You show them who’s boss tomorrow, okay?” The old security guard patted her cheek and gave her a paternal smile before plodding back toward his post.

As soon as he turned the corner, Felicity slipped back into the office, closed the door, and turned on her mom’s prehistoric computer. While it booted up, she flipped through the box of gold envelopes until she found number four. If she was going to do this convincingly, she had to know how the original question was formatted. This is it, she thought. This is the moment I become a criminal. She took a deep breath and ripped the envelope open.

Inside was a sheet of white paper with her question typed in the center: “What food do you think you are most like, and why?”

Seriously? This was supposed to be her all-important interview question, worth thirty percent of her score? She wondered if the other competitors spent time making lists of foods, animals, and colors they resembled, just in case. What answer could she possibly have given?

“I’m like a bag of barbecue potato chips—mild on the surface, but hotter and spicier the deeper down you get.”

“I’m like a coconut—hard to crack, but rewarding if you make the effort.”

“I’m like a cherry—red, sweet, and hard-hearted.”

The computer finally whirred to life. Felicity opened a word-processing program and gingerly extracted her gloss-smeared replacement question from its envelope: “Scarletville was founded as a sanctuary for redheads. How do you think having non-redheads living in our town enriches or detracts from our community?” It was infinitely better than the other question, and for a moment, she was actually grateful to Gabby. She retyped the question and hit print, then nearly jumped through the ceiling when the printer started making horrible grinding noises.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she begged in a whisper, stroking the machine as if it were a cat. “It’s just two lines. You can do it.”

As soon as the paper dropped into the tray, Felicity heard an even more horrifying sound—her mother’s laughter in the hall. And then a key clicked in the lock.

There was nowhere to run.

In a desperate attempt to save herself, Felicity scooped up the papers and torn envelopes, hit the computer’s power button, and dove under the desk. There was no time to grab the new question from the printer. Her heart began performing an Irish step dance, and she curled into a tight ball as the lights flipped on.

And then she heard Celeste’s voice. “Oh, hang on, Ginger. Do you mind coming to my office for a sec? I brought that dress I was telling you about, and I want to know if you think it’s too slutty for tomorrow.”

“Cece, I’ve known you thirty years, and I’ve never seen you look slutty, including at Lisa Randall’s ‘Dress Like a Stripper’ birthday party senior year.” Felicity jumped as her mom dropped a stack of papers on the desk directly above her head.

Celeste giggled. “That was the first time I ever saw pasties. I was mortified. Come on, will you just look at it? It’ll take two seconds.”

“All right, fine.” The footsteps moved back toward the door.

“Hey, do you really think Matty can handle running sound? That kid is—” Celeste’s voice cut off as the door slammed.