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  “I don’t want you to help me! I want you to tell the committee what you did and get me out of this! Felicity, you can have my spot.”

  “Shut up, Felicity’s going to have her own spot!”

  Felicity wasn’t so sure that was true. She barely caught the next two names over her friends’ commotion, but neither of them was hers. There were only four slots left now.

  Ivy stuffed a wad of the abused cotton candy into her mouth. “What am I supposed to do for my talent? I can’t very well swim the butterfly or do advanced math in a pageant.”

  “You’re really good at walking on your hands,” Haylie suggested.

  “You’re a virtuoso on the kazoo,” added Felicity. She tried to read her mom’s face again so she could tell if her name was among the last four. She wished they had worked out some sort of secret hand signal in advance. Raise your right eyebrow and tug your ear twice if I’m in. Mime slitting your throat if I’m out.

  “Great,” said Ivy. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, just to spite you guys. I’m going to walk on my hands while playing the kazoo. In my freaking ball gown. I’m going to make a complete spectacle of myself, and you’ll be sorry you ever filled out that application.”

  “You don’t wear your gown for the talent portion,” Haylie pointed out.

  “Amber Neilson!” called Felicity’s mom.

  Three names left. Felicity’s heart was beating so fast it felt as if there were a hummingbird trapped inside her rib cage.

  And then her mom looked straight at her and winked. “Felicity St. John!”

  Felicity’s knees almost buckled as a wave of relief swept through her. She was in. She had lived up to everyone’s expectations, including her mom’s. Haylie danced around, screaming, “I knew it! I told you!” then smashed Felicity into another group hug.

  Ginger called the last two names—Jessie Parish and Savannah King—and then invited the twelve contestants up to the grandstand to take a bow. Ivy tried to escape into the crowd, but Haylie clamped a hand around her wrist and dragged her toward the stage. For such a tiny girl, Haylie was surprisingly strong, and Ivy seemed to realize that resistance was futile.

  Felicity brought up the rear, accepting kisses, high fives, and shoulder squeezes from her friends and acquaintances as she snaked through the crowd. Everyone seemed to want to touch her and congratulate her. Though her mom had always kept her in the limelight, hoping to ensure her popularity, being so visible had always made Felicity uncomfortable. It seemed strange that anyone cared about her personal business. Sometimes she longed to hide in the shadows for a change.

  “Felicity!” Her boyfriend, Brent, was fighting his way out of the tiny ring toss booth he was manning to raise money for the football team. She paused as he jogged toward her, his crimson jersey billowing in the breeze. When he reached her, he swept her up in a hug and spun her around, knocking her into several other people. “Congrats, sexy. Knew you could do it.” Brent was economical with his words, as if he were always texting instead of talking. He rarely said anything longer than 140 characters.

  “Thanks,” said Felicity. Brent twined his hands through her wavy hair and gave her a kiss, and her stomach fluttered, just as it always did when he touched her. He was very attractive, with floppy auburn hair, dimples, and football-toned muscles. Felicity just wished she liked him a little more. He wasn’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box, and it was impossible to pretend otherwise. But he adored her, and there wasn’t any other boy in Scarletville she liked better. Every time she considered ending the relationship, it seemed like more drama than it was worth.

  Brent held her tightly around the waist and clearly had no intention of releasing her any time soon. “Um, I’ve gotta go up onstage now,” Felicity reminded him.

  “Oh. Right. Come by my booth later? I’ll give you a couple free tosses.”

  “Sure.” She kissed him one more time, then gently pulled free and headed toward the grandstand.

  As she walked by the sunblock vendor, Felicity passed a group of her brunette classmates, all of whom were staring at her coldly. She smiled at them—she tried to be friendly to everyone, regardless of their hair color—but their stony expressions didn’t change at all. “This pageant is so lame,” Gabrielle Vaughn said to Marina Rios, loudly enough to ensure that Felicity heard her. “I can’t believe I have to write about this crap for the Crimson Courier.”

  “Why are you so pissed? It’s just another newspaper assignment. It’s not like any of us entered.” Marina flicked her dark ponytail over her shoulder.

  “The point isn’t that we want to be in it,” Amanda Westin said. “The point is that even if we did, this stupid town would never let us.”

  “Exactly. It’s not like that herd of redheads up there is any smarter or prettier or more talented than we are. Trust me, we deserve the recognition and the prize money a lot more than some people.” Gabby met Felicity’s eyes with a look so hostile it was like being doused with a bucket of ice water.

  “Come on, Felicity!” Haylie called.

  Felicity followed her friends, but she wasn’t paying attention to the crowd around her anymore. A pit had opened deep in her stomach, and all her relief about being named a contestant was spiraling into it like bathwater down a drain. As she made her way to the grandstand, she could feel a dozen brown eyes on her back.

  She was the last one to reach the stage, and Ginger waited until she had mounted the grandstand steps to shout, “Let’s hear it for all our Miss Scarlet contestants!”

  The crowd cheered and whistled and catcalled, and the wave of sound washed over Felicity. Despite feeling completely overwhelmed, she tried to keep a smile plastered on her face. Pageants were all about smiling through your feelings. She might as well start now.

  Parents began pushing through the crowd to hug their daughters, and Ginger St. John was no exception. The moment she was done announcing the whens and wheres of the pageant, she fled the podium and pulled Felicity into a bone-crushing embrace. “Baby, I’m so proud of you!” she gushed.

  “Thanks, Mom.” As uncomfortable as Felicity felt, she was relieved to see her mom so pleased with her.

  “I could barely keep from jumping up and down when I saw your name on that list, but I think my poker face was pretty good, wasn’t it?”

  “A little too good, actually. You totally freaked me out. I thought for sure I wasn’t in.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to scare you. But this is so exciting! We’re finally on our way to becoming the very first mother-daughter pair of Miss Scarlets!” Ginger held Felicity at arm’s length and beamed at her, then pulled her close again and did a little happy dance, jiggling her awkwardly up and down. “Everything is going exactly like we always dreamed it would. This win is right there for the taking, baby. All you have to do now is reach out and grab it.”

  Over her mom’s shoulder, Felicity spotted the little brunette island in the sea of red and saw that her disgruntled classmates still hadn’t stopped glaring at her. She quickly looked away. Though everything did seem to be going according to plan, all those cold dark eyes reminded Felicity that she didn’t deserve any of the praise she was getting. She didn’t deserve to be competing in the pageant at all.

  Because unbeknownst to the adoring crowd, Felicity’s hair color—that bright coppery red that made her so enviable in Scarletville—was completely artificial.

  There were only two other people in the entire world who knew her secret. One was her mom. The other was her stylist, Rose Vaughn.

  Gabby’s mother.

  2

  MONDAY, MAY 3

  Every town has a dirty little secret. Some have underground drug rings. Others look away while prostitution flourishes. A select few shelter branches of the Mob.

  Scarletville’s secret was Rouge-o-Rama.

  There was rampant speculation among the town’s residents over where the underground hair salon was located and what it looked like inside. Some thoug
ht it was sleek and white and sterile, like the flight deck of a science-fiction spaceship. Others whispered that it was more like an early-twentieth-century abortion clinic, with bare lightbulbs and rusty sinks. There were even rumors that it moved around to avoid detection, like a heroin stash house. Of course, there wasn’t anything illegal about hair dye, but it certainly felt that way in Scarletville. Being an artificial redhead—an “artie”—carried such a strong social stigma that everyone who colored their hair went to great lengths to keep it a secret.

  Of course, the biggest mystery of all was the identity of the salon’s owner. The mayor had been trying for years to sniff out the culprit who was diluting his redheaded gene pool with arties, but much to his frustration, he’d had no success. The only ones who knew about Rose were her clients, and they would never reveal her secret. If they exposed her, they exposed themselves.

  Felicity had been visiting Rouge-o-Rama every few weeks since she was a toddler. Ginger, who had the reddest hair in town, had been shocked and appalled when her daughter was born a strawbie. It was bad enough that her high-school-sweetheart husband had left her six months pregnant and run off to California with a blonde. But the fact that Ginger didn’t even get a redheaded baby to show for her failed relationship felt like a slap in the face. When she brought Felicity home from the hospital, her friends stroked the infant’s tiny head and said, “Don’t worry, Ginger, her hair will get darker.” But they couldn’t hide the pity in their voices. Their babies’ hair had been flaming red right from the start.

  As soon as it became clear that Felicity’s strawberry locks weren’t going to get any darker, Ginger took matters into her own hands. Her daughter was the only thing she had left, and none of her plans for Felicity could come to fruition with that washed-out hair in the way.

  It took months of research to locate Rouge-o-Rama, but Ginger was wily and more motivated than the mayor, whose reputation wasn’t at stake. She presented her squirming toddler to Rose and instructed her to dye Felicity’s hair one tiny increment redder every visit. That way, it would look to the world as if her daughter’s hair were darkening naturally as she grew.

  By the time Felicity started preschool, the vibrant color of her hair was the envy of every parent in Scarletville. Ginger felt as if she had done her job.

  Her daughter’s social standing was safe.

  The night after Scarlet Sunday, Felicity had The Dream.

  It was always the same. She woke to the blaring of her alarm, took a shower, and got dressed. She perfumed her hair with her customary sandalwood oil and brushed it until it shone. She ate breakfast—in The Dream, it was usually Life cereal and a banana. Then she drove to Scarletville High.

  Nothing was out of the ordinary until she entered the school and noticed that everyone was staring at her and whispering. It got worse as she walked down the hall; some people gasped in horror, and others laughed at her outright. Even the littlest freshmen, the ones who would never dare to speak to her in real life, were giggling. Had she remembered to put on her clothes? Yes, she seemed to be fully dressed. Was there something on her face? Was the back of her skirt tucked into her underwear?

  With mounting panic, Felicity raced to the bathroom. And there in the mirror, she saw … roots. A whole inch of shining, platinum-blond roots, lacking even the slightest hint of strawberry. There was no way to hide them. Everyone had already seen her. Everyone in the whole school knew she was a big artie fake.

  She usually woke herself up when she screamed.

  Felicity switched on her bedside lamp and rushed to her mirror with a pounding heart. Her fingers scrabbled through her hair, parting it over and over. But there were no roots. She had gotten a touch-up at the salon only eight days ago. She breathed slowly in and out, willing the adrenaline to stop pumping through her body. It was only a dream. Her secret was safe.

  Felicity climbed back into bed. It was four in the morning, but she couldn’t relax enough to fall back asleep. The feeling was distressingly familiar—sleep had often eluded her in the weeks leading up to Scarlet Sunday. Sometimes she had tossed and turned all night, worrying about how her mom would react if she was rejected from the pageant. But everything was okay now. She was officially a Miss Scarlet contestant, a status symbol that could only lend credibility to her red hair.

  But every time Felicity closed her eyes, all she could see were the icy stares of her brunette classmates. Had one of them discovered her secret? It seemed impossible. Sure, Gabby’s mom owned Rouge-o-Rama, but Rose kept security tight. She had once told Felicity that her own family didn’t even know where the salon was. And even if Gabby and her friends had stumbled on Rose’s appointment book, all the listings were under code names. There was no way for anyone but the stylist herself to know who Raspberry Ripple was.

  Felicity decided she was being paranoid. The brunettes were probably just jealous of her. And who wouldn’t be? She was in an enviable position, one coveted by every girl in town.

  When her alarm went off a few hours later—for real this time—Felicity felt as if she had been up all night. Her mom took one look as Felicity slumped into her chair at the breakfast table and asked, “Baby, do you feel okay? You look awful.”

  “Thanks, Mom. You know how much I love hearing that.”

  “You’re not sick, are you?” Ginger felt her forehead, then combed her fingers through her daughter’s hair. It felt like an affectionate gesture, but Felicity knew her mom was probably just checking her dye job.

  “I’m not sick. I didn’t sleep well.” Felicity squirmed out of her mom’s reach. “Could you hand me the phone? I want to make an appointment at the salon for later today.”

  “But you’re already scheduled for Thursday.”

  “I had The Dream again last night, Mom. It would really make me feel better to go today instead. Please?”

  “Okay, baby. You just eat your breakfast and I’ll call for you.” Ginger kissed Felicity on the top of the head, then yelled, “Boys! Breakfast!”

  Andy and Tyler barreled in from the den, carrying action figures they had mummified in tinfoil. They both had pumpkin-orange hair—the hair Felicity should have had. The twins were the result of the short fling her mother had had with a redheaded pageant judge from out of town when Felicity was in fourth grade.

  “Hey, Lissy, which is awesomer, Captain Spacepants or Captain Rocketpants?” Andy scrambled into his chair and placed his spaceman neatly in the center of his eggs.

  “I like Captain Rocketpants.” Felicity winked at Tyler, who beamed. His adult front teeth were much larger than his baby teeth, which gave him a rabbity look.

  Andy pouted. “Nooooo, Captain Spacepants is way awesomer!”

  “Andy, eat your toast-pants,” said Ginger, sending both boys into gales of laughter. These days, they both thought adding “pants” to the ends of words was the funniest thing in the world.

  Felicity tried to keep her brothers quiet while her mom phoned Rouge-o-Rama. For maximum discretion, the salon had an 800 number that showed up on the caller ID as a tech support hotline. “Hi, Rose. Do you have any appointments open this afternoon?” Felicity crossed her fingers. “Oh, that’s perfect. She’ll take the four o’clock. Raspberry Ripple.” Ginger wrote down a four-digit code on a Post-it note. “Four-seven-two-three. Got it. Thanks so much.”

  Ginger hung up and stuck the Post-it to Felicity’s arm. “That’s the code for the door today. Four o’clock. Will you pick up the boys from day care on your way home?”

  “Sure. Thanks, Mom.” Felicity gulped down the last of her orange juice, kissed Ginger’s cheek, and grabbed her backpack. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you later.”

  “Okay. Chin up, baby. Even if you’re not feeling your best, you’ve got to make everyone else believe that you are. It’s the face you present to the world that matters, not how you feel inside.”

  Felicity nodded. She’d heard that advice from her mom countless times.

  “That’s my winner. Have a good day. Bo
ys, say bye to your sister.”

  “Bye, Lissy,” they chorused.

  Felicity walked out into the breezy spring air and headed for their car. The unwieldy Chevy was a hand-me-down from their neighbor Victor, who lived in the other half of their duplex. When he had upgraded to a hybrid last year, he had given his old car to Felicity. It was lime green, and it had multicolored peace signs stenciled on the trunk, the hood, and the driver’s-side door. Victor called the car Yoko, a tradition Felicity faithfully maintained. Although Ginger was always on her case about getting Yoko a new paint job, Felicity liked the absurdity of the peace signs. She had worried at first that she would be ridiculed for driving such a flamboyant car, but it had only made people consider her delightfully quirky. A non-redhead never could have gotten away with it.

  Felicity stopped for her daily double-mocha latte, then pulled into the student parking lot at Scarletville High. She parked in the row closest to the doors—the best spots were unofficially reserved for the students with the reddest hair. When she entered the school, everyone looked up at her and started murmuring amongst themselves, and for a horrible moment Felicity thought she was back in The Dream. But there was no jeering, only broad, warm smiles. School was always like this the day after the Miss Scarlet competitors were announced—Felicity had just never been on this side of the equation before. The pageant would be everyone’s main topic of conversation for the next month, which meant she’d be in the spotlight even more than usual. She tried to follow her mom’s advice and hold her head high as people cleared a path for her, but she had no control over the squirmy feeling in her stomach.

  Haylie and Ivy were waiting by her locker. As she got closer, Felicity noticed the homemade sign taped to the door that read CONGRATULATIONS, FELICITY! GO MISS SCARLET! in glitter. It was signed from SASH, the Spirit Association of Scarletville High. When she glanced down the hall, she saw that there were signs taped to the other contestants’ lockers as well. Ivy carried the remains of her sign, folded into quarters and leaking a steady stream of glitter onto the floor.