Red (23 page)

But here she was, alone, filled with a strange numb emptiness.

Without speaking to anyone, she made her way into the wings and down the stairs to the empty dressing room. She changed into her old jeans, then methodically packed up her pageant supplies and took one last look around. She would probably never see this room again.

Felicity didn’t want to face the crowded lobby, so she slipped out the back door of City Hall and skirted the far side of the building until she reached the parking lot. After stuffing her garment bags into the trunk of her car, she collapsed into the driver’s seat and rested her forehead against the steering wheel.

She had absolutely no idea what to do next.

After several long minutes, Felicity’s phone beeped, and she dug it out of bag. She had one new text message.

GABBY: well played, st. john. I underestimated you.

F
elicity spent Saturday night and most of Sunday hiding in Ivy’s bedroom, watching horrible reality TV and trying not to think.

Ivy provided a steady supply of Twizzlers, popcorn, and smoothies and didn’t ask any touchy-feely questions. But when the sun started setting on Sunday and Felicity still hadn’t moved from her nest of blankets, Ivy switched off the television and stood menacingly in front of the screen. Felicity reached for the remote, but Ivy snatched it away.

“You have
got
to snap out of it,” she announced. “If everyone doesn’t stop making such a big deal about your hair, I will seriously cut it all off myself. You’ve been sulking over here for an entire day because you’re freaking out about everyone
else
freaking out. It’s
hair,
Felicity! It’s a bunch of stringy keratin! What is everyone’s problem?”

“They should be apologizing to
me
! I shouldn’t have to run after them.”

Ivy sighed and flopped down next to her on the bed. “I know. The whole thing just drives me insane. I mean, who cares if you have the MC1R gene or not? Everyone loved you on Saturday morning, and aside from the fact that you’re a little less clean now, you haven’t changed at all. God,
everywhere
but here, people dye their hair right out in the open, and nobody cares. I cannot wait to get out of this place.”

Felicity had never heard a genuine redhead rail against Scarletville before, and the wheels in her brain slowly started spinning again. “What do you mean? Where do you want to go?”

“Stanford. Everyone has weird hair in California. Maybe I’ll go platinum.”

“Was that Haylie you were yelling at on the phone earlier?” Felicity asked. “What has she been saying about me? Is she coming around at all?”

“She keeps being like, ‘Felicity lied to us, how can we ever trust her again?’ It’s absolutely ridiculous. Maybe when we see her at school tomorrow—”

Felicity’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not going to school tomorrow!”

“Yes, you are. You have to. You made this big, bold public statement, which was totally awesome and badass, by the way, and you made everyone think you were proud of who you were—which you should be. But if you hide now, everyone’s going to know you’re actually ashamed, and that’s when they’ll try to take you down. They sniff out fear like dogs. If you don’t hold your head up, this is not going to go away.”

Felicity looked at her friend. “You’re kind of wise, you know?”

“That’s me. Tiny and wise. Just like a Magic Eight Ball.”

Felicity’s phone rang, and she lunged for it. Her heart started beating wildly when she saw her mom’s name on the screen. “Hello?”

“Felicity.” There was hurt and sadness in her mom’s voice, but all the fury was gone. “Are you at Ivy’s house?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m still not happy about what you did yesterday.”

“I know,” Felicity said.

There was a long moment of silence, and then her mom said, “I’d still like you to come home, please. Your brothers would like to see you.” She paused. “I would, too.”

It wasn’t an apology, but even the tiniest start was better than nothing.

So Felicity went.

Monday morning was like The Dream come to life.

When Felicity walked through the doors of Scarletville High, everyone stared at her, even the littlest freshmen. Nobody spoke to her directly, but everyone started whispering. There were giggles. There were gasps. There was no eye contact.

The difference was that in The Dream, Felicity always woke up when she screamed. This time, there was no escape.

When she reached her locker, she saw that the
good luck, felicity
! wrapping paper was hanging off in uneven shreds. She tore the rest down and stuffed it into the trash can, along with the chocolates and the wilted flowers she had left in her locker on Friday. She kept the plush penguin for the twins.

Ivy finally showed up as she was picking off the last of the tape. She reached for Felicity’s mocha and took a sip. “How’d things go with your mom last night?”

“Okay, I guess. Dinner was pretty awkward. We didn’t really talk at all. But I guess it’ll take time. Have you spoken to Haylie?”

“No progress yet, but I’ll get through to her eventually. There’s no way that girl can beat me in a fight.”

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.”

He didn’t hesitate at all. “Definitely. Let’s go.”

The Sharks in Heaven music wrapped around them like an embrace when she started her car. Jonathan took her hand and held it tightly as they pulled out of the parking lot. For just a moment, Felicity looked back at her classmates, standing openmouthed among the shattered remains of her old life.

And then she turned her eyes to the road ahead.

I am overflowing with gratitude toward the following people:

My rock-star agent, the incomparable Holly Root, who believed in this book long before it was book-shaped. Thank you for always magically knowing when I need a pep talk and for laughing with me, not at me, when I make a complete fool of myself. You are, quite simply, the best.

My brilliant editor, Wendy Loggia, who has transformed this book into something I actually want people to read. Thank you for loving Felicity as much as I do and for making me laugh with your margin notes.

My Delacorte Press publishing team, for all the hard work you’ve put into bringing my book to life. Extra-special thanks to my genius copy editors, Jennifer Prior and Colleen Fellingham, and my book designer, Heather Daugherty.

My amazing critique partners and early readers: Nicole Lisa, Liz Whelan, Lauren Billings, Christina Hobbs, Julia Reischel, Renee Lasher, Adam Bowker, Evie Gaynor, Rachel Handshaw, and Marianna Caldwell. Thank you for your honesty, your humor, and your kindness and for never letting me take the easy way out. This book is so much better because of you.

Elizabeth Little, for introducing me to the world of young adult literature and for helping me navigate the treacherous waters of publishing for the first time.

The wise and hilarious ladies of Team Root, for welcoming me into the fold with open arms and making me feel like I belonged there. I am so lucky to know all of you. A special shout-out to Rae Carson, who shared her top-secret beauty pageant knowledge with me.

My debut group, the Lucky 13s, who have been the best support system a girl could ask for. Giant hugs to Brandy Colbert, Kristen Kittscher, and Lindsay Ribar—I would never have survived revisions without you.

SCBWI, for inspiring me, setting me on the path to publication, and introducing me to such spectacular people.

My incredibly supportive friends, who understand when I sometimes disappear from society for months at a time and reappear with a slightly crazed look in my eyes. Thank you for cheering me on and for forcing me to talk about things other than writing. High fives to Lissa Harris and Jenna Scherer, without whom there would be no Crucial Douches.

My sister, Erica Cherry, for all the times you dropped everything to read my new pages and for motivating me by incessantly clamoring for more story. You (and your brains) are too awesome for words.

And finally, my mom, Susan Cherry, my toughest critic and my biggest fan. Thank you for helping me with every single draft of this book. Thank you for being
nothing
like Ginger St. John. And thank you for passing on the genes that gave me my love of words and my red hair.

Unlike Felicity, Alison Cherry is a natural redhead. She is a professional photographer and spent many years working as a lighting designer for theater, dance, and opera productions. She lives in Brooklyn, New York. This is her first book. Visit her at
alisoncherrybooks.com
or on Twitter at @alison_cherry.