Red (5 page)

“Oh,
wow
. Is that Hawaii?”

“It’s Capri. It’s this little island in Italy? My grandmother lives near there. I visited her over Christmas, and I did a ton of sketching. It’s so—I don’t know, I just love it there.”

Jonathan flipped over more paintings of cliffs, water, and street scenes. Each piece looked like it belonged in a museum. But when he turned over the final canvas—a little smaller than the others, and less finished-looking—Felicity immediately knew that was the one she wanted in the show.

The subject of the painting was a girl about their age. She stood at a railing overlooking the ocean, her body turned toward the endless expanse of blue. Her long dark hair danced in the wind that whipped around her face, and she was trying to catch hold of it with her hand as she looked back over her shoulder at the viewer. Her eyes were warm and alert and a little mischievous, as if she were about to make a wry joke. It was obvious that Jonathan cared about this girl, whoever she was; the painting overflowed with tenderness.

“This one,” Felicity said, pointing.

“Really? But all these other ones feel more finished to me. I mean, doesn’t this one seem—”

“No,” said Felicity. “This one is the best. Who is she?”

Jonathan rested his hand on the top of the canvas protectively. “This is Lucia,” he said. His eyes got brighter just saying her name.

“Is she in Capri, too?”

“Yes.” He looked at the painting like he wished he could reach right through it and grab the girl’s hand. The expression on his face gave Felicity a peculiar little ache in her chest. She wanted to ask all kinds of questions about Lucia, but since she and Jonathan were just art class friends, not
real
friends, she felt that might be out of line.

“She’s beautiful,” Felicity told him. “She should definitely be in the show.”

Jonathan looked at his painting for another minute, then nodded. “Okay. That’s fine. If you think so.” He gave the top of the canvas an affectionate pat.

Felicity and Jonathan covered their artwork, then wrote out a list of the chosen artists’ student ID numbers, including Gabby’s. Felicity posted the list on the studio door, and then they got to work figuring out where each piece would go in the “gallery.”

But Felicity found it hard to concentrate. All she could think about was the expression on Jonathan’s face as he’d looked at his painting of Lucia. There had been so much sweetness and longing in his expression. Nobody had ever looked at her that way.

She hadn’t even known she wanted that kind of attention until now, but suddenly she wondered how she had ever managed to live without it.

That night, Felicity was sitting on her bed, doodling plans for her next sculpture in her sketchbook, when she heard rustling in the tree outside her window. Her heart started pounding; nobody had gotten around to fixing her screen since a squirrel had chewed through it and gotten into her bedroom last month. Felicity grabbed a heavy art book from her desk and held it up like a weapon, then sidled toward the window.

But it wasn’t a squirrel—it was a football player. Just as Felicity reached the window, all 180 pounds of Brent tumbled over the sill headfirst and landed directly on top of her. She tried to scream, but all the air had been knocked from her body, and no sound came out. The book skidded ineffectually across the floor.

Felicity struggled out from under her boyfriend. “God, Brent, you scared the crap out of me.”

He grinned. “Sorry, babe. I wanted to surprise you. I didn’t think you’d be right there.”

“You either have to call first or use the front door, okay?”

“I can’t use the front. If your mom knows I’m here, she won’t let us close your door, and I wanna be alone with you.” He flopped down on her polka-dotted bedspread with his shoes on and held out his arms. “C’mere. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Felicity made sure her door was shut tightly, then went over and sat on the bed. Brent pulled her down next to him and kissed her, then wrapped both arms around her and settled her head onto his chest. She allowed herself to be embraced, and despite her annoyance, she felt herself relaxing. Her head fit so perfectly into the little dip next to his collarbone. Their legs tangled together in a reassuring, familiar way. One of Brent’s hands rested on her hip, and the other twined through her hair. She closed her eyes and listened to the slow, even thump of his heart.

It was nice, just lying there with him. Brent was perfect when he wasn’t talking, and for a little while, Felicity felt safe and comfortable and content. But soon she felt his breathing start to deepen, and she realized he was falling asleep. She knew he had good reason to be tired—he got up super early for football practice, and he often went to the gym after school, too. But now she wasn’t sure whether he’d been seeking a girlfriend or a body pillow when he’d climbed through her window.

She squirmed around and repositioned her head, hoping the movement would wake him. “We picked the pieces for the art show today,” she said, a little louder than necessary.

Brent’s yawn was so wide it made Felicity think of a snake preparing to swallow its prey whole. “Oh yeah?” he mumbled.

She told him about the submissions—with the exception of the hyenas, of course—and he made noises that indicated he was listening as he stroked her hair. But when she was done talking, he just yawned again and said, “You smell so good.”

She wasn’t sure why she still tried to talk about art with Brent. He had never made an insightful comment on the subject or even asked a question. Felicity always told herself that he wasn’t uninterested in what she did. He was the kind of person who thought in sports metaphors, and he just didn’t know what to ask. Unfortunately, these rationalizations didn’t make her feel any better today. Spending the afternoon with someone who understood art—and seemed to understand
her
just from looking at what she’d created—had been such a new and enlightening experience. It made Brent’s disinterest seem even more unsatisfying by comparison.

She wished she could at least tell her boyfriend about the hyenas, which she couldn’t seem to banish from her mind. What should she say to Gabby tomorrow? Would she be able to shut down the blackmail scheme before the rest of the school saw her and her best friends depicted as mangy scavengers? If she managed to get her blackmailers to back off, how could she pull the painting from the show without making Jonathan think she was a coward?

But of course, she couldn’t talk about any of that. She sighed. “What’s up with you?” she asked, hoping Brent would come up with a good story to distract her.

“Not too much. Carson and I totally slaughtered Tim and Damien at two-on-two basketball in PE. And Carson and Damien made this bet that whoever lost had to drink six cartons of chocolate milk in ten minutes at lunch. Damien almost did it, but he puked in the courtyard after five. It was so hilarious.”

This wasn’t really the kind of story Felicity had in mind, so she interrupted her boyfriend with a slow, soft kiss. Brent responded eagerly, and within moments, he was running his hands all over her body. Felicity closed her eyes, relieved to be able to switch off her brain for a while.

Half an hour later, she snapped back to reality at the sound of her mom’s voice shouting from downstairs. “Felicity! I need you to take out the recycling!”

She swore under her breath. “Give me a couple minutes, Mom!”

“
Now,
Felicity. If you put it off any longer, I’m coming up there and dumping these cans in your bed!”

Felicity scrambled to her feet, flushed and disheveled. She couldn’t have her mom bursting in while Brent was there. “You have to go before she finds you,” she whispered, tugging her T-shirt back into place.

Brent groaned, but he didn’t argue. “See you tomorrow,” he said. He kissed her one last time. “You are seriously so awesome.”

“Felicity, you have thirty seconds to get down here!” shouted Ginger.

“See you,” Felicity whispered. “Come on, you have to go
now
.”

Brent’s exit was much more graceful than his entrance. As he started down the tree, Felicity dashed to the mirror and smoothed her rumpled hair and clothes. She hoped her mom wouldn’t notice how pink her cheeks were.

Feeling a tiny bit hollow, she watched from the window as Brent sprinted across the lawn and out the back gate.

F
elicity arrived at school the next day prepared for battle. She had once seen a nature documentary about what to do if you encounter an animal predator while hiking, and she had decided to follow the same protocol regarding Gabby: Make yourself look as large and threatening as possible. Make a lot of noise. Whatever you do, don’t show your fear.
Gabby is a mountain lion,
she told herself as she walked down the hall.
Convince her that you’re dangerous prey, and she’ll find someone else to eat
.

When Felicity opened her locker, there were no little red envelopes in sight, and she smiled. It seemed like a good omen.

Gabby arrived at her own locker five minutes later, and Felicity’s heartbeat accelerated as she watched her enemy rummage around for her books. She took a deep breath. Just as Gabby moved to close the door, Felicity looped her arm through her adversary’s in what she hoped looked like a friendly way. “Hey, Gabby,” she chirped.

Gabby looked surprised, but before she could pull away, Felicity dug in her nails and steered her toward the nearest bathroom. “I need to talk to you,” she hissed.

The bathroom was mercifully empty. Felicity checked each stall for feet, just to make sure, then leaned against the door and wedged it closed with her heel. She didn’t want this conversation interrupted by giggling freshmen eager to redo their lip gloss, and being in control of the only exit made her feel safer. Gabby lolled against the sinks across the room, looking totally unintimidated.

“I assume these are from you,” Felicity said in her best authoritative voice, pulling the three little red envelopes from her pocket.

“Impressive detective work.” Gabby surveyed her nails and picked at some chipped polish on her pinkie. “Took you long enough.”

It was incredibly annoying that she seemed so relaxed. Felicity wished she could move closer and shake the notes in Gabby’s face, like they sometimes did on cop shows, but she worried the gesture might come off as ridiculous.

“Why would you write this?” she snapped instead. “It’s obviously not true. You know my hair’s been the same color my entire life. You’ve been in my class since second grade.”

“Just because it’s always been the same doesn’t mean it’s real. It’s that sandalwood perfume you wear that finally tipped me off. For years, every time you walked by, I always thought, God, that smells so familiar, what does that remind me of? And then a couple weeks ago, my mom came home from work smelling the same way, and I finally put it together. It hides the smell of the dye, right?”

Felicity breathed a little more easily. If that was all Gabby had to go on, it might not be so hard to make this whole situation go away. “Are you serious?” she snorted. “
That’s
your proof? That I wear the same perfume as your
mom
? I know this might be hard to believe, Gabby, but sometimes,
different people like the same smells
.” She made a face of exaggerated shock.

Gabby rolled her eyes. “Oh, give it up, Felicity. I can see your roots.”

Felicity’s smile died on her lips, and she struggled against the wave of terror that crashed through her. It took every bit of her strength to resist rushing to the mirror, but she reminded herself sternly that this was reality, not The Dream. She had been to Rouge-o-Rama four days ago, so she couldn’t possibly have roots. Gabby had to be bluffing.

“You think I’m going to fall for that?” she said. “This whole thing is ridiculous. You can’t have roots unless you dye your hair. Which I
don’t
.”

Gabby shrugged. “Say what you want. But I think my mom missed a little spot this time. Right about here.” She pointed to her left temple.

She looked so serious that Felicity’s mask of calm began to crumble. What if Rose really
had
missed a spot? There was a first time for everything. Before she could restrain herself, she was across the room, inspecting her hairline in the mirror. Everything looked fine, and for a moment all she felt was relief. Then Gabby snickered, and Felicity realized she’d been tricked.

“I don’t have any roots, you bitch,” she snapped. She stalked back to the door, her face flaming with fury.

“No, you don’t. But you obviously thought you did, which kind of proves my point. Plus, I’ve seen you leaving the salon. Unless you just like to hang out in supply closets for fun.”

Felicity felt unbelievably betrayed. Rose had told her there was
no way
anyone could know who came to Rouge-o-Rama. And yet here Felicity was, rendered completely powerless by the stylist’s own daughter. “How do you even know where the salon is?” she sputtered. “It’s supposed to be
secret
. Does your mom know you spy on her clients?”

“Of course not. But she keeps a set of blueprints for the salon at home from when she helped renovate it. It’s right there in her office with the key to the appointment-book code names. She even has her work calendar synced to her home computer. She didn’t make it very hard for me to spy.”

“Isn’t it illegal that you looked at that stuff? Like, invasion of privacy or something?”

“Sometimes you have to break the rules to get information, Felicity. Do
you
always follow the rules?”

Felicity felt her face grow even hotter. Though she hadn’t technically broken any rules, her whole life as a redhead was one big lie. She was much worse than Gabby, really.
You have to get a grip,
she told herself.
Don’t lie down and let the mountain lion eat you
.

She squared her shoulders. “It’s not like anyone would believe you if you told them my hair color was fake. I’m a celebrity around here right now, with the pageant coming up. You couldn’t even get a rumor started. Everyone would think you were just jealous of me. You probably are.”

Gabby adopted the tone one might use to explain something to a dim-witted kindergartener. “Felicity, have you
seen
how rumors spread in this school?
Everyone
would believe me. And even if they didn’t, they’d still tell everyone they knew.”

That was a distressingly valid point. Felicity’s popularity was no match for the Scarletville High rumor mill. Everyone was always hungry for a scandal, and a disgraced pageant contestant was even more exciting than a potential winner.

She slumped against the door, her bravado gone. “Does anyone else know? Did you tell your friends?”

“No, not yet.”

That was a relief. “Are you going to?” She hated the desperation in her voice.

“I haven’t decided. Do you have any convincing reasons why I shouldn’t?”

Felicity had hoped she wouldn’t have to resort to groveling, but it was clearly time to abandon her pride. “Seriously, Gabby, I’ll do anything you want. This absolutely cannot get out, or my life will be over. What can I do for you? Do you want money? Do you want me to try to get you into the pageant? I could probably get my mom to pull some strings.”

But Gabby just laughed. “
That’s
what you think I want? To be in the
pageant
?”

It did sound a little ridiculous, but Felicity didn’t know what else she could offer. Social status didn’t come with actual power. “I don’t
know
what you want. I don’t know why you’re doing this to me!”

“I’m not doing anything to you. You’re the one dyeing your hair. All I did was find out about it.”

Gabby was definitely doing something to her, and that something was called blackmail. But Felicity fought the urge to argue. “Okay, so you don’t want to be in the pageant. That’s fine. What
do
you want? You just tell me, and I’ll work on getting it for you.”

Gabby gestured to the little red envelopes, which Felicity was still clutching in a death grip. “I’ve been very clear about what I want. And you’ve done such a good job of following my instructions so far.” She gave Felicity a condescending little smile. “I’m so looking forward to seeing my painting on the wall of your art show.”

Felicity closed her eyes and rubbed her temples as she imagined what would happen when Haylie and Ivy saw the painting … and when her
mom
saw it. “Gabby, I’m not opposed to what you painted on principle, and I really do think you’re talented. But people know I’m curating the show, so if I include something offensive, it reflects badly on me. If the pageant judges see your painting, it could jeopardize my chances of winning. Can’t I give you something a little less …
public
?”

Gabby raised one eyebrow, obviously amused. “What do I care if you win the pageant? How does that affect me?”

“Look, I’m totally happy to put another one of your paintings in the show instead. Maybe you have something more accessible?”

“I don’t want another painting in the show. I want this painting in the show.”

“What if I included
two
of your other paintings? Nobody else has two submissions.”

Gabby chuckled. “Nice try, but the hyenas are what I’m offering. Take them or leave them. And you know what happens if you leave them.” When she smiled, it reminded Felicity of the face Ivy’s cat made just before he eviscerated a mouse he’d been batting.

She knew she’d have to hang the painting after all. But maybe the backlash wouldn’t be
that
bad; it was just a piece of student art. If her friends confronted her about it, she could always say it was Jonathan’s choice. “Fine,” she said. “Bring the painting to the squash courts on Tuesday, when we’re hanging the show.”

“Fabulous. I look forward to it.”

The first bell rang. Hoping it would soften her tormentor up a little, Felicity tried to smile and said, “You know, Gabby, I really don’t have a problem with you.”

“Of course you don’t have a problem with me. You don’t even see me.” Gabby grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “We’re done here.”

“So you won’t tell anyone?”

“For now.” She gestured for Felicity to move out of her way.

Felicity stepped away from the door, hating that Gabby was so clearly in charge. Her enemy paused in the doorway and looked back at her. “By the way, your life will not ‘be over’ if this gets out. Don’t be so melodramatic. You may have noticed that my hair is brown, and amazingly enough I’m still very much alive.”

With that, she let the door swing shut behind her, leaving Felicity with only her shame for company.