Red(76)

Felicity whipped around when she heard a burst of giggles behind her and found the group of miniskirted, furry-booted sophomores whispering behind their hands. They skittered off like cockroaches in the light when Felicity glared at them. “God, this place sucks today,” she said.

Ivy nodded. “Yeah, it does. But let’s be honest, this place kind of sucks all the time.”

It was an abysmal day. Although very few people spoke to Felicity directly, whispers trailed her wherever she went. People let doors slam in her face as if she were invisible. A group of sophomores commandeered her table in the cafeteria, and she and Ivy ended up eating under the red is rad! banner. When Brent passed her in the hallway, he pretended to vomit as Gretchen Williams clung to his arm and giggled. Even Felicity’s teachers looked at her warily, as if she might go crazy and attack someone at any moment. No one called on her all day.

The one exception was Ms. Kellogg, who embraced Felicity as soon as she walked into the art room. “I didn’t get to see you after the pageant,” she said. “You were spectacular. That tap routine was incredible! I had no idea you were good at so many things. You’re going to go very far in life, Felicity.”

The affection was so unexpected that Felicity almost burst into tears. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m really glad you were there.”

“I am, too. And what you did during the interview—that was so brave. You said exactly what this town needed to hear. You probably inspired a lot of people.”

Felicity shrugged. “I didn’t do it to be inspirational.”

“I know. That’s usually how it goes.” She pulled Felicity close again. “You did good, kid,” she whispered. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

After that, it was a little easier to get through the rest of the day. But only a little.

By the time the last bell rang, Felicity was so worn out that all she could think about was getting home and going to bed. But she snapped awake when she opened her locker door and a small white envelope tumbled out and landed at her feet. She jumped back in alarm, as if it might attack her toes.

“What the hell?” she whispered. She was not in the mood for cryptic correspondence today. She scanned the hall, looking for Gabby, but her adversary was nowhere in sight.

The envelope stared up at her, daring her to touch it.

Fine, Felicity thought, snatching it up. It’s not like my life can get any worse. She ripped the envelope open and pulled out a card with a butterfly on the front.

Felicity,

What you did on Saturday was incredibly brave.

I’m a secret strawbie, too.

I don’t have the guts that you have, but maybe someday I will.

Thanks.

—A friend

Felicity stared at the card. Somehow, it had never occurred to her that she wasn’t the only artie at Scarletville High. But Rouge-o-Rama was a thriving business. Of course there would be others. It could be anyone. It could be Madison. It could be Haylie.

She left the building consumed by curiosity, thinking of something other than her own hair for the first time in days.

And that was why it took her a minute to notice Jonathan waiting by her car in the back of the parking lot, the section reserved for non-redheads.

Felicity had once read that a hummingbird’s heart can beat up to 1,250 times a minute. When she saw the way Jonathan was smiling at her, her own heart started trying to break that record.

“Hi,” he said quietly. “I have something for you.” He held out a fat brown envelope.

There were two thick, glossy booklets inside, the kind Felicity was starting to receive in the mail from colleges. One was for the Tanglewilde Summer Arts Program, and the other was for the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Both booklets were packed with photos of galleries and beautiful sunlit art studios. The paint-spattered students and wise-looking professors looked happy, wild, free.

It was Felicity’s idea of heaven.

A scrap of paper fluttered out of the envelope, and she barely managed to catch it before it blew away. In Jonathan’s handwriting, it said,

This is where you belong.

P.S. You rock my world.

Felicity looked up and met his eyes. They were warm and gentle and full of unconditional acceptance. She knew he was seeing her—really seeing her—and that he liked what he saw, red hair or not.

She put the booklets down on the trunk of her car.

And then she kissed him.

For once, Jonathan’s hands knew exactly where to land. One of them rested against the small of her back, warm through her T-shirt, and the other cradled the back of her neck, under her traitorous hair. She wrapped both arms around him, surprised at how pleasantly solid his wiry frame felt against her body.

Kissing someone new was like learning how to kiss all over again. Felicity closed her eyes and concentrated, learning how their mouths fit together. She felt as if she had just let go of a swinging trapeze and was plunging into an exhilarating, delicious free fall, totally secure in the knowledge that there was a soft net to catch her at the bottom.

When they broke apart, Felicity noticed that the parking lot was strangely silent. Anyone who hadn’t been staring at her already was certainly staring now.

“Do you want to go to that gallery in Des Moines with me?” Felicity asked.

Jonathan smiled. “Now?”

“Now.”