Boy Queen

by George Lester

  She cocks her head to one side. ‘What?’

  ‘I got a rejection letter this morning,’ I say. ‘They thanked me for coming and said I hadn’t been successful this time round.’

  Mrs Hepburn takes this information in. She inhales deeply and breathes out. ‘Meditate with me?’

  ‘I’m meant to have a study period,’ I reply.

  ‘That doesn’t sound like a no,’ Mrs Hepburn says, grabbing two yoga mats and placing them on the floor. She sits down on her own and crosses her legs, her hands resting on her thighs, her eyes closed. ‘Are you joining me, or are you going to go and “study”?’

  ‘Um . . .’

  ‘Sit.’

  She’s not asking any more. I kick my shoes off and position myself across from her.

  ‘Mrs Hepburn—’

  ‘Deep breath in,’ she interrupts. I oblige. ‘And out.’

  ‘Mrs Hepburn—’

  ‘Deep breath in,’ she interrupts again. I oblige again. ‘And out.’

  I don’t see how this is helping. Mrs Hepburn is one of the wisest people I know, but sometimes she can be a little kooky. Today seems to be one of her kookier days.

  She sighs and I open my eyes. She’s leaning back on her hands. ‘Tell me what happened,’ she says.

  ‘I got the rejection letter and—’

  ‘No, no,’ she says. ‘After that, what did you do after that?’

  I sigh. ‘I cried,’ I say. ‘I cried and took a shower and then talked to my mum and cried some more, told some friends, cried. I’ve done a lot of crying.’

  She smiles. ‘Good.’

  ‘Good?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Good. Crying is good.’

  ‘How—’

  ‘It means you care, Robin,’ she says. ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘It hurts like hell,’ I say.

  She shrugs. ‘It happens,’ she says. ‘Rejection isn’t a walk in the park, but it’s just part of the path you’ve chosen for yourself.’

  ‘But I don’t feel like I even have a path right now,’ I say. ‘I’ve been focusing on LAPA for so long and—’

  ‘And now you have to recalibrate, figure out what your next move is and execute it,’ she says.

  I lie back on the yoga mat, staring up at the ceiling. ‘But I don’t know what that is.’

  Mrs Hepburn laughs. ‘Of course you don’t, silly boy,’ she says. ‘You found out this morning! You can’t expect to just bounce back immediately on to the next thing. You’re allowed to be sad.’

  ‘Why does everyone keep telling me to be sad? I don’t want to be sad,’ I say, sitting back up.

  ‘Well, I’m giving you permission to be,’ she says, smiling. ‘Be sad, be angry, but don’t let it knock you so far back that you stop. Never stop.’

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve let you down, Mrs Hepburn,’ I say, my voice small.

  ‘No,’ she says flatly. ‘You’ve only let me down if you give up.’

  ‘So, what are we doing for your birthday Friday?’ Natalie asks as we get to the common room, the January weather keeping us inside. ‘This is your birthday and it must be celebrated and I need to plan an outfit so . . . ’

  I had every intention of celebrating. I had wanted it to be my last hurrah before I spent the rest of the summer obsessively stretching to hit the splits and getting myself to a fitness level that would mean classes wouldn’t be too much of a shock to my system. But now . . .

  ‘Earth to Robin,’ Greg says, poking me on the forehead. We sit down, Greg on one sofa, Nat on the other, me on the floor. I’m not being dramatic this time, it’s just more comfortable. I lean against Greg’s legs.

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘Robin—’

  ‘Come on, Nat, I’m just super not in the mood,’ I say. ‘I’ve literally had my entire life ripped away from me. The thought of going out and—’

  ‘This is exactly the reason why!’ Natalie protests. ‘Come on, Robin, you can’t just sit around on your birthday moping. What good would that do?’

  Greg tousles my hair. It feels kind of nice. ‘It might be good for you to get out,’ he says. ‘I mean, we don’t even have to go anywhere – we can just stay in and mope with you.’

  ‘No!’ Natalie cries out. ‘No moping!’

  ‘But I’m hurting.’

  ‘No. Moping.’ She’s dead serious.

  ‘Fine,’ I sigh.

  ‘Oh, the commitment,’ Natalie snarks. ‘At least pretend like you mean it, Robin, Jesus.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to commit too hard. I might break something.’

  ‘Put that in your Grindr profile. You’ll be turning them away at the door,’ Greg says.

  ‘He doesn’t need Grindr when he has Secret Boyfriend,’ Natalie teases. ‘How is he, by the way? I messaged you last night and you took a while to reply so I assume—’

  ‘You know what they say about people who assume.’

  ‘They’re usually right?’

  ‘He was over . . . for a bit.’

  Natalie groans. ‘Wow, Robin, you’re walking clickbait,’ she says. ‘Please, oh please tell us what that means!’

  ‘Mum came home earlier than she was supposed to,’ I say.

  ‘So, you got caught?’ Greg asks.

  ‘No . . .’ I trail off.

  ‘He climbed out of the window.’ ‘He climbed out of the WINDOW?!’

  ‘Wow, Natalie, say it louder – the rest of the common room might not have heard you.’

  Natalie scoffs. ‘Stop changing the subject. The opportunity presented itself for you to tell your mum about it,’ she says. ‘It was organic, it was a sign, it was—’

  ‘Embarrassing!’ I interrupt. ‘I didn’t want to, OK?’ I look over at Greg who raises an eyebrow at me. Greg knows things. ‘Now please can we change the subject? I’m in mourning.’

  ‘Then let’s talk about a way to pull you out of mourning,’ Natalie says gleefully. ‘Further hot goss about the new boy?’

  ‘Pass,’ I say.

  ‘Come on, this is a good one,’ she says. ‘Holly was saying he got into a shouting match with Mrs Finch and—’

  ‘Subject change,’ I say.

  ‘He’s meant to be in our English class, you know,’ Natalie says. ‘But he’s just not been showing up.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’ Greg says. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘We’re making it worse,’ I say. ‘Subject change.’

  ‘Fine!’ Natalie says. ‘Back to birthday festivities. Where do you want to go?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘Somewhere . . . gay.’ I swallow, not really knowing why saying this makes me feel nervous. I sort of hate that it does – why should it?

  Natalie sits up so sharply I’m surprised she doesn’t give herself whiplash. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I don’t know where. I just—’

  ‘Want to go somewhere gay, yeah, OK, got it. I’m on it, I’m on it so freaking hard, Robin.’ She is buzzing, pulling her phone out of her pocket. ‘We can head up into London, but that’s a bit of a mission. And on a Friday night it just feels like we’re asking for trouble.’

  ‘Last train back will mean we’ll be leaving as the night gets going,’ Greg chimes in. ‘The pains of living in a suburb!’

  ‘Is there anywhere closer?’ I ask.

  ‘Entity!’ Natalie announces, not looking up from her phone.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Queer club in Southford,’ she says. ‘I’ve not been, but Amber used to go back in the day, and Anthony went a few weeks ago and said it was really cool, super chill. A safe place, you know?’

  ‘Anthony went?’ I ask. Anthony is a bi guy who takes all the sciences plus maths, so is ridiculously smart. He’s Oxbridge through and through, and I honestly can’t believe that someone like him would be found in a club at any point in his life, let alone while school is still in session. ‘Can’t imagine that.’

  ‘Don’t want to imagine that,’ Greg says. ‘It’s too
weird.’

  ‘Let’s stop imagining Anthony trying to cop off with someone and return to the matter at hand,’ Natalie says, turning to me sharply. ‘Entity would be good, right?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Come on, Robin, it will be fun, and let me go somewhere queer, please?’ she says. ‘My crops would be in full bloom, my skin would be clear, grades high, wig snatched. I want to make out with somebody, Robin.’

  It’s hard for Natalie sometimes. Our school is a pretty safe place, but not massively queer. I mean, Connor’s the only guy I’ve been with and that’s a secret. And it would be fun to go somewhere we can be ourselves a bit more.

  ‘Entity could be fun,’ I say. ‘Southford?’

  The mention of the town makes my blood run a little cold, but I shake it off.

  ‘It’s on the high street,’ she says, glancing down at her phone. ‘It looks super unassuming, like you don’t know that it’s there unless you know that it’s there.’ She looks a little closer. ‘Though there are rainbow flags everywhere, so you’d either think it’s queer or that the owners really like rainbows.’

  ‘The Room of Requirement meets gay bars,’ Greg says. ‘There’s a leaky-cauldron joke in there somewhere.’

  ‘And if you make it, I’ll tear your nuts off,’ Natalie says. ‘So, you want to go?’

  She hands me her phone, Entity’s website up on the screen. It’s pretty basic: topless guys dancing, rainbow flags all over the place, a drag queen or two bellowing into a microphone. There are certainly worse places to spend my birthday. And if I don’t go here, what will I do? Mope about at home by myself? At least this way I’ll be with friends, and it will keep my mind off . . . well . . . everything.

  ‘Wait,’ I say, clicking through a couple of links, finding myself on their events page. ‘Wait.’

  ‘What? Change of heart? Is it a place for creepers?’

  ‘No wonder Anthony went,’ Greg says with a chuckle.

  A word floats on the screen in front of me in glittery letters, a drag queen below it dressed in a magnificent gown, her neon-pink hair stretching out of the confines of the screen.

  ‘Dragcellence,’ I whisper. The word in my mouth sounds reverent. It’s like a spell. Natalie’s eyes widen.

  ‘What is that?’ she says. I show her the phone. ‘Holy shit. Yes!’

  ‘What?’ Greg asks, suddenly sitting up straight.

  ‘Dragcellence!’ Natalie practically screams.

  ‘I don’t know what that means!’ Greg says. ‘I’m not quite as deep into the world of drag as you two are.’

  ‘And you’re a poorer soul because of it,’ I say.

  ‘This is perfect,’ Natalie hisses. ‘Dragcellence.’

  ‘Will you stop saying that?’ Greg groans. ‘Just tell me what it is. I hate being out of the loop.’

  ‘There is a drag show on my actual birthday,’ I say, the excitement strutting through my veins. ‘At Entity. We have to buy tickets, but still – it will be fun!’

  ‘Fun?’ Natalie echoes. ‘It’s going to be more than fun; it’s going to be freaking fabulous. I can’t believe this! How long has this been going on for? Why haven’t I been going to this since the dawn of time?’

  ‘You don’t have to come, Greg,’ I say, ignoring Natalie who is going into some kind of mental breakdown about who is performing, squeaking out names like Pristine Gleaming, Julie Mandrews, Dawn Raid and Ay Tee Em like she’s heard of them before now. ‘I get that it might be weird.’

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘I want to come out for your birthday.’

  ‘Oh, Greg, I’m so proud of you!’ says Natalie.

  ‘Not like that!’ he exclaims. ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but—’

  ‘Do we need to get a new straight white guy for our group to, you know, diversify?’

  ‘And you’ll be all right going to a gay bar?’ I say, ignoring Natalie. ‘Because we don’t have to. We can go somewhere else—’

  ‘Robin,’ Greg says, putting a hand on my arm. ‘I am more than fine going to a gay club for your birthday. I want to go wherever you want to go.’ He pauses, puts a little bit of thought into it. ‘The music is probably going to be better anyway.’

  ‘Facts are facts,’ Natalie says.

  He smiles and I pat his hand, which he takes hold of and gives a quick squeeze. Greg is honestly the best. Everybody needs a Greg. And I’m happy that he will be there as well as Natalie. In an ideal world, Connor would come along and ingratiate himself with my friends, but if he’s not going to hold my hand in public I highly doubt he would even consider stepping foot in a gay bar.

  ‘Oh my God, invite Priya!’ Natalie squeaks. ‘I love her!’

  ‘I don’t know if I can face people from dance right now,’ I say. ‘I’m meant to go to class tonight and I just . . . I don’t know. Drama this morning was a slog and I—’

  ‘You’re not going to a class, Robin, you’re having a night out,’ Natalie says. ‘We’re taking your mind off all that, and Priya would love it.’

  ‘True. I mean, if you guys don’t mind.’

  ‘The more the merrier,’ Greg says.

  I pull my phone out and send Priya a quick message, trying to keep it as chirpy as possible.

  ‘What about Connor?’ says Natalie. I look up sharply.

  ‘Natalie, don’t be ridiculous,’ Greg says.

  ‘What? He might want to come and spend time with his secret boyfriend on his birthday,’ she teases.

  ‘He wouldn’t be caught dead there,’ I say.

  Natalie stops short, realizing she’s struck a nerve. Greg averts his gaze.

  ‘Robin—’ Natalie starts.

  ‘I’m fine, honestly, sorry, just being dramatic,’ I say, trying to brush the situation off.

  ‘OK.’ She shrugs. ‘But if anything is going on—’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘We’re great, honestly, I just know him enough to know that asking him would be awkward.’

  I look at Greg, who is staring off a little into the distance. He looks almost disappointed in me before he rearranges his face into a smile.

  ‘OK,’ Natalie says, pulling my focus back to her. ‘I need to find something to wear. Maybe I should wear something new.’ Her face brightens. ‘Shopping? I need something that won’t make me look like a walking dustbin.’

  ‘You know you always look gorgeous,’ I say. ‘You could show up tomorrow night in a paper bag and, one, you’d look brown cow stunning and, two, the gays would worship you. And I’ll be in the corner having spent all day picking out a shirt that I don’t look terrible in, waiting for you to have five minutes for the birthday boy.’

  She shrugs. ‘And what would you do with that kind of attention, hmm?’

  ‘Crawl up into a ball and die, most probably.’

  ‘You’re an actor!’

  ‘People would approach and you’d just see my soul leave my eyes. Nothing medically wrong, just death by attention.’

  ‘You’re impossible,’ she says. ‘God knows why you want to be on the stage.’

  ‘Yes, she probably does,’ I reply. ‘And maybe at some point she’ll give me a sign that it’s all going to work out OK.’

  Natalie opens her mouth to answer, but the bell sounds, quickly followed by groans as people start to make their way out of the common room. I pick myself up, stretching, actually feeling a little bit of lightness inside. I like birthdays. There’s something inherently good about them. The world is wishing you well, like there’s good karma in the air and it’s all for you.

  ‘Look at you smiling,’ Natalie says. ‘If I’d have known all it would take was a couple of drag queens to lift your spirits, I wouldn’t have bothered being sympathetic. I would have sat you in a room, turned Drag Race on and thrown glitter at you until you stopped moping.’

  ‘I’m sorry, you’ve been sympathetic?’ Greg snorts. ‘I’d hate to see you being harsh.’

  ‘Ooh, a read from Greg!’ I exclaim. ‘You got read by Greg! You’
ve been spending too much time with us,’ I tell him.

  ‘Sorry, “a read”? What’s “a read”?’

  ‘It’s fun-da-mental!’ Natalie replies. I roll my eyes so hard I practically pull a muscle.

  ‘Throwing shade, darling,’ I say, linking my arm in his as we walk. ‘An insult or exposing someone’s flaws, but in a way that’s sassy and not being a dick.’

  ‘Right,’ Greg says, a smile creeping across his face.

  ‘Just think,’ Natalie says. ‘If this night is as amazing as it looks, it can be a staple in the Summer of Fun remix.’

  ‘You need to stop,’ I say.

  We start towards our next class, my arm still linked in Greg’s, Natalie still cackling over Greg learning how to ‘read’, and I am smiling. Friday night will be a welcome distraction from today’s news or, at the very least, a sunny spot in what looks like an endless sea of gloom.

  SEVEN

  I spend a little time in the library after school, killing time before my dance class is meant to start. I’m still not sure I want to go. I’ve spent the day painting a smile on to my face and, frankly, I’m exhausted.

  I spend a bit of time reading through my notes from English, not that any of them are sinking in, then I browse through the LAPA website, torturing myself as I look at studios I won’t be dancing in, stages I won’t be performing on. The smiling faces of the current students just make me feel worse.

  Christ, I have to get out of here. I’m going to drive myself nuts.

  As I pack up my things and head out of the library, I hear a voice booming loudly down the empty corridor.

  ‘I’m not starting anything – you’re the one starting this!’ The voice catches a little as it drifts towards me from a boy pacing back and forth, his jeans ripped, his blond hair covering his eyes. ‘Is that all?’

  He listens to the person on the phone a little longer and I turn and walk the other way. ‘I just didn’t want to hear everyone talking about me, OK?’ he says. And I realize this must be the new kid. Seth? Is that what Natalie said his name was? Then he growls down the phone, ‘Well, I think you just called to inform me, yet again, that I’m a disappointment, so if you’re done—’

  I pick up the pace, keeping my head down so that he doesn’t think I’ve overheard. I don’t even know the guy, haven’t even seen him around yet, but to have him feeling bad about people talking about him sucks. When I came out, I knew people were talking about me, heard them whispering, and I hated it. Whenever we had P.E. the other guys would make comments, but Greg was there to put a stop to that. Seth doesn’t even have anybody to do that right now.