Miss Emily is standing at the sound system. She looks up, surprised that I’m still here. She narrows her eyes, fixing me with that stare that tells me she knows something is going on.
‘You need to stop overthinking it.’
‘Huh?’
‘All of this,’ she says. ‘It’ll drive you mad.’
‘It might have already,’ I say.
‘What’s up?’ she asks.
‘You know how the girls were dancing in heels tonight?’ I start. ‘Do you think I could do that?’
She blinks. I find it hard to believe she’s never had a boy want to dance in heels before, but this is Essex, after all. She seems a little unsure.
‘Can I ask why?’ she asks. I feel suddenly uncomfortable.
‘Drag,’ I say. ‘I’m . . . I’m trying something new and if I’m going to do it then I need to be able to move in a heel. Plus, you know, there are so many shows around these days that need boys that can . . .’ I trail off and I know I’m babbling, my nerves getting the better of me.
She looks off into the distance, towards the windows where the light of the day is fading away into glorious purples and oranges. A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. She loves a challenge as much as I do. She managed to whip me into shape in flat shoes, she’s probably wondering if she can manage it in a three-inch heel. I know I am.
‘Stay here,’ she says, slipping out of the room and quickly returning with a pair of tan heels that look positively giant. ‘You’re a ten, right?’
I nod.
‘Try these on.’
I slip them on my feet and do up the buckle. I can’t help but laugh a little as I look at my slightly hairy man feet in these quite dainty shoes. It’s a strange image. And looking in the mirrors makes it seem stranger as my eyes travel up my hairy legs to my dance shorts. I mean, my legs have never looked so fantastic in all my life.
‘First things first. Can you walk in them?’ she asks, plugging in her phone and putting on some music.
If I’m totally honest, I don’t know the answer to this question. Standing there, I feel this odd sense of power. I’m already six foot tall, so adding the extra inches would make me tower over anybody who walks through that studio door. Miss Emily looks tiny next to me now.
I take a step, pitching my weight into the balls of my feet.
‘That’s right, keep your weight forward,’ Emily calls over the pounding bass. ‘Use your arms, it might help.’
My arms seem to gain a life of their own, out to one side to balance me, or instinctively finding my waist as I walk back and forth in the studio. It’s hard, though not entirely impossible. I stumble once or twice, but I manage to recover before I fall.
The song changes and I look up and see Miss Emily walking towards me, her heels on, her face determined.
‘The routine from earlier, you remember it.’ It’s not a question. ‘Let’s go. Be careful. If you can’t hack the pirouette at the end, prepare it and we’ll figure it out later.’
‘So you’ll help me?’ I ask.
She snorts and rolls her eyes. ‘I’m struggling to think of a situation where I wouldn’t do my absolute best to help you,’ she says. ‘Five, six, seven, eight.’
We dance, and I mean we dance hard. It’s not easy dancing in heels. This routine was hard to begin with, let alone being pretty much on my tiptoes the entire time. But I make it through, sweaty, tired, and with some minor ankle pain.
‘Oh, ho-ney!’ Priya is at the door, the biggest smile on her face. ‘Yes!’
I can’t help but smile, a giggle coming from my mouth before I can stop it. ‘Good?’ I ask.
‘Looked pretty good to me,’ Priya says. ‘Do you mind if I . . . ?’ She gestures to the room and I beckon her in.
‘It wasn’t bad,’ Miss Emily says as she goes over to her phone to stop the song. ‘I mean, you need to work on it, but that’s why you asked for my help.’
‘So what do I do now?’ I ask.
‘Well, when the girls put on their heels, you can either put those on or not, it’s totally up to you,’ she says. ‘And if you don’t want to do that, you can just practise after the class is over. I always have paperwork to do so I can teach you some things and then leave you to your own devices until I have to close up.’
I can’t help but smile at her. She’s the best. She really is. She totally doesn’t need to do all this for me, but I’m super glad that she is.
‘Can we . . . um . . . can I just use the studio time rather than dancing in front of the rest of the class? It might be . . . weird.’
‘Is this for your drag thing?’ Priya asks.
‘Greg told you?’
‘He mentioned it,’ she says. ‘You need to show me these faces you’ve been painting.’
‘You want to stay now?’ Emily asks me. ‘The studio is free for another hour.’
‘If that’s OK?’
‘Can I stay too?’ Priya asks.
Miss Emily turns to me. ‘If Robin doesn’t mind, I don’t.’
‘Yeah, that’s fine with me,’ I say, knowing just how much I can learn from Priya.
Miss Emily smiles. ‘I’ll leave you two to it.’
Days pass by and seem to blur into a mixture of late nights dancing in heels at the studio, even later nights painting my face and entire days struggling to give two shits about school.
‘Robin?’ I look up and see that Seth has turned round in his seat. I do my best not to look at him all gooey-eyed, but when he’s smiling at me like that it’s pretty much impossible.
‘Yeah?’ I say.
‘Do you have a pen?’
‘Sure.’
I hand him my pen.
‘Do you not need this?’ he says, looking at me sceptically.
‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘Yes, I do.’
Natalie groans next to me and hands him a pen from her pencil case. ‘Here you go, Seth,’ she says. ‘If I don’t get it back, I’m coming for you.’
‘Duly noted,’ he says, turning back round and carrying on with . . . well . . . with whatever it is Mr Goldberg has asked us to do.
‘What are we supposed to be doing?’ I whisper to Natalie.
‘We have an essay due next Monday morning,’ she says. ‘The question is on the board. Where is your head at?’
‘Not in this classroom,’ I mumble, writing down the question, which is the only thing that I have written down for this entire hour of class. Christ, I really was letting myself get distracted.
The bell rings and before Mr Goldberg can stop anyone, we’re all out of our seats and heading for the door.
‘So, if your head isn’t in the classroom, where is it?’
‘I think the question is, “How’s your head?”’ I suggest.
‘Ooh, avoiding the question,’ she says. ‘Come on, Boy Queen, tell me what’s in that beautiful brain of yours.’
‘Just drag stuff mostly,’ I say. ‘Dancing with Emily is going well. I mean, I’ve not fallen over yet and I can pretty much do it, I think. The make-up is looking better, right?’
‘Right!’ Natalie says. ‘So how much is it going to take for you to put on your drag rags and take it to Entity?’
I almost choke on the air. ‘No way. I’m not ready for that,’ I splutter.
‘OK,’ she says. ‘Then how about we just go there tomorrow then. It’s not Dragcellence, but it will be fun. Might be nice to see what it’s like when we’re not obsessively staring at the queens. Greg said he’d come, said he’d bring Priya.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ Natalie says with a smile. ‘Greg and Priya, sitting in a tree.’
‘You be nice to him.’
‘I will, I will, it’s just adorable,’ she says.
‘Cool,’ I say, taking a breath. ‘And maybe this time I’ll wear a little bit of make-up.’
She grips my arm tighter. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But just a bit. Boy brows, a little eyeshadow maybe and some high
light, nothing more.’
‘If you go out without a lip on you might as well just stop breathing here and now,’ she snarks.
‘I will not stand for this abuse,’ I retort. ‘I said what I said.’
‘Hey, Natalie.’ Seth appears behind us, his blond hair perfect, his smooth skin perfect, his perfectly crooked teeth perfectly crooked. I realize I’m smiling at him like a lovesick puppy, but I don’t really care because wow, pretty boy. He hands Natalie the pen. ‘I didn’t want you coming for me,’ he says as she takes it.
‘A wise boy,’ she says, putting the pen in her jeans pocket.
‘Where are you off to?’ I ask him.
‘Science block,’ he says. ‘But I had to give the pen back, so . . .’ He trails off and we’re just standing in the corridor staring at each other. But he’s smiling, at least he’s smiling. I want to say something clever, something that will make him laugh. But no words are forthcoming, and the longer we stay like this, the more uncomfortable I’m feeling.
‘Well, I’ve got the pen now,’ Natalie says, and we both snap to look at her.
‘Uh, how are you settling in?’ I ask, not wanting him to go yet. I can feel Natalie’s eyes on me.
‘Oh, it’s all right,’ he says. ‘It’s the same work I was doing before, just somewhere different. The school is still a maze, though.’
‘I know, I swear the staircases move,’ I say.
‘What?’ he says.
‘Right, I have to go. Mrs Finch wants to talk to me about uni offers,’ Natalie says. ‘So, Entity tomorrow night, yes?’
‘Entity?’ Seth says. ‘What’s Entity?’
Natalie looks at him, almost like she’s surprised he’s still here. ‘It’s a gay club one town over, in Southford. Google it or whatever.’
He looks a little taken aback, but quickly shifts his face to a smile, a smile that is directed squarely at Natalie. I literally may as well not be here.
‘I’ll . . . uh . . . see if I’m free,’ he says, with a wink.
‘Wow, never wink at me again,’ Natalie says, but she laughs so he knows that she’s kidding. ‘Hang on, what did you say?’
‘Right, got to get to class,’ he says abruptly, raising a hand and waving goodbye to us before practically sprinting down the corridor. We both stare after him.
‘What just happened?’ she asks.
‘I think you just asked Seth out tomorrow night,’ I say. ‘And I think he just said yes.’
SIXTEEN
I’m not painted by any means – far from it, in fact. But I’m wearing the matte foundation powder I normally reserve for dance shows, the smallest amount of eyeliner and a little bit of colour on my eyelids. It’s the lightest drag make-up I have done so far.
‘You look really nice,’ Greg says with a sort of gormless smile on his face. It’s like he’s never seen make-up before. Honestly, straight boys can be so adorable sometimes. ‘Like, the colour really brings out your eyes.’
‘Careful, Greg,’ Natalie says, a warning tone in her voice. ‘There are going to be a lot of boys at Entity tonight – you’re going to have competition.’
‘Leave him alone,’ I say, unable to stop the fizzing in my stomach. ‘He’s just rehearsing his compliments for Priya.’
‘Oh please, I’m nicer than that!’ Greg says. ‘She does have really nice eyes, though.’
‘Is she coming?’ I ask.
‘She’s going to try to make it after class,’ Greg says. ‘But she isn’t sure. She might have work to do.’
‘Well, I hope she comes,’ I say. ‘You two are sweet.’
Greg grins, like properly cheesy-grins. He does a lot of that when Priya gets mentioned.
‘What about Seth?’ Greg asks. ‘Is he coming?’
I look at Natalie. ‘What are you looking at me for?’ she asks. ‘How would I know?’
‘You invited him,’ I say.
‘Hardly,’ she says. ‘I mentioned that we were going and he basically invited himself. Besides, he’s not going to come. He’s barely showing up to school – why would he meet us at a gay club?’
When we get out of the cab in Southford, I feel suddenly exposed. I’m nervous about going outside like this. The fizzing in the pit of my stomach won’t go away.
Natalie links her arm in mine, as if she can sense the nerves crashing over me like waves threatening to drag me under. She squeezes tightly, supportive little thing that she is.
‘You got this, Travis,’ she whispers. ‘Make ’em wait for it.’
I laugh. ‘Boom?’
She nods. ‘Boom.’
Greg tuts. ‘You two are gross.’
Priya meets us just outside Entity, kissing Greg on the cheek and linking her arm in his as we approach, two by two.
Entity looks like some kind of holy ground from this distance. I can’t believe people just walk past it, managing to ignore the music coming from inside, the sounds that scream SANCTUARY to any rainbow sibling wandering by. I can’t keep the smile off my face as we approach, the same bouncer from a couple of weeks ago checking our IDs and letting us inside with a warm smile and a polite nod of his head.
I am taken slightly aback when I see a heavyset man onstage in a navy shirt, chest hair poking out from the collar, a microphone in his hand as he wails his way through a Queen song. It’s not the kind of voice you’d expect to come out of him at all, but it’s freaking gorgeous.
‘Wow,’ I breathe.
‘He’s amazing!’ Greg’s face is lit up like a Christmas tree. ‘I didn’t know people sang here.’
‘You a singer, Greg?’ Priya asks.
Greg snorts. ‘No. Professional watcher of singers, is more like it.’
‘It’s open mic – I think they do it every week,’ Natalie says with a shrug. ‘Who wants a drink?’ She doesn’t wait for us to answer, heading over to the bar and leaning across it to make her order.
There is a tap on my shoulder and I turn round.
‘Hello!’
I stop dead. Seth is here and Seth is talking to me. It takes my brain a second to process.
‘Fancy seeing you here!’ he says, smiling. I’ve never seen someone so happy to see me. It throws me off balance. I replay the conversation we had yesterday, the one where he winked at Natalie and acted all coy about his schedule.
‘What are you doing here?’ I shout over the music, having to lean in a little closer to him. I can smell his cologne. I don’t know what it is, but it’s musky and breathing it in makes me feel a little weak.
‘Natalie invited me, remember?’ he says.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Of course.’ I feel like the physical embodiment of the noise a balloon makes when you let go of it.
He must notice my disappointment because he looks really confused now. ‘I thought you might be glad to see me here.’
Now it’s my turn to look confused and I wonder if I should just ask him if he likes boys or not. A question every queer person gets asked at one point or another for the rest of their lives; whether it’s clarifying your partner’s gender or having to watch someone realign everything they think about you in a split second when they realize you’re not hetty AF. But I’ve got to know.
‘Seth, I need to ask you something—’
‘Hey, buy a girl a drink first,’ he interrupts with a laugh.
‘So you’re . . . I mean . . . you like . . .’ I gesture around. It’s a roundabout way of asking him without actually asking him because, if his pre-out teenager years were anything like mine, he would have been asked this question a lot, by a lot of shitty people.
He laughs. ‘Yeah.’
Be still my big, glittery heart.
‘Cool,’ I manage. ‘That’s cool.’
He grins. God he’s cute when he grins. ‘I’m really glad you think so. I was hoping you’d approve.’ He sighs. ‘One less thing to worry about when you’re the new guy trying to fit in.’
‘So, what’s the deal with you being new?’ I ask. ‘I know Natalie trie
d to get it out of you when you first got here, but I’m definitely a little curious.’
‘Like I said,’ he says with a smile, though it seems a little more forced than the last one. ‘It’s a long story. And I don’t want to monopolize you.’
‘You wouldn’t be.’
He sighs. ‘Robin—’
‘If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine,’ I say.
‘Tonight isn’t really the night for it.’ He smiles at me and I smile at him and maybe I’m drunk off the moment, but there is an energy between us that I swear I can see sparking on the air. It makes me want to get closer to him, to take up a little more of the space between us.
Someone knocks into him on their way to the bar or the bathroom and I see that veneer of cool slip from his face as he tries not to spill his drink on me. And we’re so close now that I can feel the heat radiating off him and fucking hell did it just get warm in here?
Our eyes lock and he seems as aware of the lack of space between us as I am. A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth and it brightens my actual soul. Don’t ask me how. I smile back. I can’t help it.
The guy onstage finishes singing behind us, wondering if anybody can find him somebody to love. The crowd goes a tiny bit wild, which knocks us out of whatever magnetic force was holding us together.
We step apart and turn our attention back to the stage, our arms touching, and it’s the tiniest bit of contact, but apparently I’m needy enough that it sends my stomach absolutely wild. I look over at him and he’s looking at me. We both quickly look away and I feel so alive that I want to die.
‘You ready?’ Natalie says, handing me a drink. There is a mysterious grin on her face. ‘Oh, Seth,’ she says, drawing out the name, making it all sing-songy. ‘You here to see Robin perform?’
I turn my head so sharply I swear I give myself whiplash. I look from her to the stage and back again.
‘What are you talking about?’ I hiss.
‘The open mic?’ she says. ‘Yes. You are getting up there and performing. I couldn’t let you and your boy drags go to waste.’
‘Nat, I don’t know. I—’
‘Come on, if I’d have asked, you would have said no!’
‘So you’ve decided to just throw me to the lions? Thanks a million, Nat,’ I grumble. ‘What am I supposed to do up there?’
Boy Queen Page 12
