Middle School's a Drag, You Better Werk!

by Greg Howard

  Option B—Rehire her and cross all my fingers and toes that she keeps her mouth shut during this audition.

  She hasn’t lost her smirky stare. She knows she’s got me. Pap Pruitt always says, When life serves you lemons, make lemonade. And boy, is he right about that.

  “Okay,” I say, even though I hate lemonade. “Fine. You are officially the junior talent coordinator for Anything Talent and Pizzazz Agency.”

  “That’s a dumb name for a business,” she says.

  I ignore her. “But you’re on probation for thirty days.”

  Lyla’s face sours instantly. “What does that mean?”

  I turn, heading toward the garage. “It means for thirty days I can fire you for any reason I want to, so you better not screw up. And don’t even ask for a raise. Same deal as last time.”

  “But you didn’t pay me last time,” she whines behind me.

  “Exactly,” I say.

  There’s a side door to the garage and I guess that’s where Julian meant for me to go in. But I feel kind of weird just walking into someone’s house without ringing the doorbell or anything. It seems rude and kind of illegal, but that’s what his note said to do.

  “Mikey,” Lyla says behind me.

  I look over my shoulder. “Michael. What?”

  “What does a coordinator do?”

  “Everything the boss says to do,” I say, turning the doorknob. “And coordinators don’t speak unless spoken to.”

  I open the door and Lyla follows me inside.

  “Yeah,” she says. “That’s not going to work for me.”

  8

  THE AUDITION

  The garage is huge, at least twice the size of our carport. It’s brightly lit with no cars inside and super-crazy neat. A single row of metal chairs faces a small stage with a black curtain for a back wall. Two women sit watching a girl about Lyla’s age dance around onstage in black tights. One of the women looks like an older version of Julian and the other one looks like a super-older version of him. We stand quietly in the back, watching the girl. She’s pretty good, I guess, but I don’t know much about dancing, so I can’t be sure. The thumping song ends and the girl twirls, throwing her hands way up in the air when she stops. The older of the two women stands, clapping excitedly. The other woman pops up out of her chair and walks over to the stage.

  “You have to point your toes, mija,” she says to the girl, who’s already stepping down off the stage.

  Dancing Girl nods at the woman and then spots us in the back of the garage. She waves us over. Before I can open my mouth to say hello and introduce myself to the three of them, Lyla pipes up.

  “That was really good,” she says to the girl. “You have loads of talent and pizzazz.”

  The girl grins so hard I think her face is going to crack open. I glare at Lyla, but she ignores me. What is she up to now?

  “You must be Julian’s new friend,” the woman says to me, while smiling at Lyla the way all adults do. Ugh.

  I don’t know why she called me Julian’s friend. He’s my client and I’m his agent. We have a professional relationship, that’s all. I don’t know why that seems important to me to clear up, but I manage to ignore it.

  “Michael Pruitt, ma’am.” I hold out my hand to her. “President, founder, and CEO of Anything Talent and Pizzazz Agency, at your service.”

  I don’t know why I said at your service. I think I heard it on a TV show once and thought it sounded professional. But it doesn’t seem to bother the woman, because she shakes my hand and winks at me.

  “I’m Julian’s mother,” she says, the dancing girl leaning in to her side. “This is Gabriela and Abuela.”

  “Hey, Gabriela,” I say to the girl. Then I hold my hand out to the older woman standing beside Mrs. Vasquez. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Abuela.”

  She shakes my hand with a little giggle. “It’s just Abuela, dear.”

  “Abuela means ‘grandma’ in Spanish,” Gabriela says, chuckling into her hand.

  Lyla looks up at me with a giant smirk on her face. “You just called her Mrs. Grandma.”

  Now they’re all laughing and my cheeks are on fire. But I have to admit it’s pretty funny, so I relax a little and chuckle right along with them.

  “Are you going to make Julian a star?” Gabriela asks, saving me from all the giggling.

  I clear my throat and lower my voice a little. I don’t know why. “That’s the plan, Gabriela.”

  “You can call me Gabby,” she says.

  Mrs. Vasquez wraps her arm around the girl. “Gabby just won her third dance competition in a row.”

  Oh. Now I get it. They were hoping I would catch Gabby rehearsing so maybe I would want to represent her, too. I can’t blame them. When you get a chance to perform in front of a big-time talent agent, you take it. I stand up a little straighter and nod at the girl like I’m thinking about if I want to offer her a contract or not.

  “That’s great,” I say to her. “You have a lot of potential.”

  That sounded good. I think.

  Michael Pruitt Business Tip #354: If you’re not sure about an idea, say it has potential and put it on the back burner in your brain so you can think about it later. Or you might just want to leave it there forever. But don’t forget to turn the burner off so the idea doesn’t boil over.

  “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Michael,” Mrs. Vasquez says.

  She has a pretty face and sparkly eyes like Julian’s, with a tiny nose and wavy brown hair.

  Mrs. Vasquez pushes her hair over her shoulder. “Julian tells us you have big plans for his career.”

  That catches me off guard, so I clear my throat and try to sound as professional as possible.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say. “Sorry, but that’s all top secret right now.” It’s not, but I don’t have anything to tell them yet. “You understand. I can’t wait to see his audition, though.”

  Julian’s tiny abuela covers my hand with both of hers and leans in. “You are so young. Do you think you can handle Miss Coco Caliente?”

  The name rolls off her tongue with a lot of pizzazz. It must run in the family.

  “I’m going to do my best, ma’am,” I say.

  “And who is this?” Julian’s grandma says, beaming at Lyla like she’s the baby Jesus. Lyla gets that a lot. She even played the baby Jesus in a Christmas pageant once. She was terribly miscast in that role.

  “This is my associate, Lyla,” I say, trying hard to sound professional and not bothered that Lyla is here.

  Stepping in front of me, Lyla shakes their hands. “Lyla Pruitt, senior talent coordinator.”

  “Junior,” I spit out. “Junior talent coordinator.”

  Lyla glares at me over her shoulder. I don’t care.

  A boy’s voice is amplified through the garage. “Please, everyone, take your seats.”

  I glance up at the stage and down into the blender goes my stomach again. Standing there holding a microphone is—OMG!—Colton Sanford. And he’s smiling at me. Heat rises to my cheeks. He gives me a little wave even though my mouth burped in his face the last time I saw him. Hopefully he’s already forgotten about that. And that’s the second time he’s smiled at me when he’s standing in front of people. And Heather Hobbs isn’t sitting behind me this time, so I’m pretty sure the smile is meant for me. I only kind of half wave back because everyone is watching me wave at another dude and this doesn’t feel the same as when I wave at Trey and Dinesh in the cafeteria or in the hall on the way to class.

  Mrs. Vasquez hurries us to the chairs in front of the stage and we sit—me in the middle with Mrs. Vasquez and Julian’s grandma on one side and Lyla and Gabby on the other. Those two are already whispering to each other like they’re best friends. But I can’t stop staring at Colton up on the stage mainly because I’m so surprised that he’s here.
I saw him sitting with Julian at lunch today, but I didn’t know they were the hanging-out-at-Julian’s-house kind of friends.

  Once we’re settled and quiet, Colton nods to someone behind the black curtain and then out comes—OMG!—Julian. No, I mean Coco Caliente. Yeah, this is definitely Coco Caliente, Mistress of Madness and Mayhem. North Charleston Middle School eighth grader Julian Vasquez is nowhere in sight. Coco looks like a giant Christmas tree in red high heels, a long red wig, and a sparkly green dress. Like a real dress. It’s so glittery that it’s almost hard to focus my eyes on him.

  Julian twirls like he thinks he looks really good as a giant twirling Christmas tree or something. And he kind of does actually, especially with all that makeup on. He almost looks like a real girl. I had a pretty good idea of what to expect from watching RuPaul’s Drag Race, but seeing it live and up close, well, it’s a lot to take in. I look over at Lyla. She just stares up at the stage with her mouth hanging open. For once, she’s speechless.

  I can’t get over how tall Julian is in those high-heeled shoes, and the poufy wig makes him look even taller. I don’t know how he doesn’t just topple over, but somehow he doesn’t. Julian stands front and center on the stage. Colton hands Julian the cordless microphone, which is much fancier than my antique lime-green intercom.

  “Well?” Julian says to me, his voice booming through the speakers.

  “Well?” I say back, my voice sounding way smaller than his because I don’t have a microphone. And, like—no fair.

  Julian looks a little confused. He plants a hand on his curvy hip. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me what to do? This is an audition, right?”

  “Oh,” I say, sitting up a little straighter in my chair and raising my voice so everyone can hear me. “Right.”

  I wish there was another microphone for me, and there really should be, but I won’t count that against Julian. My mind races. How do you run an audition? I wish I had my laptop and Google, but I guess I’ll just have to wing it. Pap always says, Fake it till you make it. And I guess this is the perfect time to do that. Then I remember all the reality talent-competition shows I’ve seen on television.

  I lean forward like those judges do, like I’m talking into an invisible microphone on the invisible table in front of us, because that seems like the professional thing to do.

  “Please tell us your name and where you’re from,” I say.

  Yeah—I’m pretty sure that sounded wicked cool and professional.

  Julian still looks a little confused, but he smiles anyway, standing up real straight and speaking into the microphone. “My name is Coco Caliente, Mistress of Madness and Mayhem, and I’m from”—Coco glances around the garage—“this house.”

  Mrs. Vasquez and Abuela look over at me, like they want to know if that was the right answer or not. I just smile, nodding at them as if to say, Don’t worry, he’s doing just great!

  I look back at the stage. “And how old are you?”

  “Thirteen going on fourteen,” Julian replies, all smiles. Like he’s proud of being thirteen going on fourteen. And like I don’t know that fourteen comes after thirteen. I do, by the way.

  “Great, Coco,” I say. “And what will you be doing for us today?”

  I look down at my lap like I’m not all that interested in what Coco has to say. That’s the way Simon Cowell does it on those TV talent shows.

  Julian clears his throat. “I will be performing a Beyoncé classic.” He pauses, I guess for dramatic effect. “‘Run the World.’”

  Mrs. Vasquez and Abuela burst into applause. I jump a little in my seat because I wasn’t expecting it. I can see now where Julian gets all his pizzazz from.

  I lean forward again. “Okay then, Juli—um . . . I mean, Miss Coco. Good luck, and whenever you’re ready.”

  Mrs. Vasquez beams at me. She’s probably super impressed by the way I’m handling this audition. I have to admit that I just sounded super-crazy professional and like I judge auditions all the time. Fake it till you make it!

  Lyla leans over and whispers, “Are you sure that’s the boy who came to our office? Maybe Julian has two sisters.”

  I put a finger to my lips to shush her, ignoring the fact that she called my office our office.

  Colton looks down and presses something on an iPad, and music fills the garage. I mean, it’s loud. But it doesn’t seem to bother Mrs. Vasquez or even Abuela. They move their heads to the beat, clapping their hands and grinning from ear to ear.

  That’s when all the fireworks begin, and OMG!

  9

  THE IT FACTOR

  Julian dances around the stage, moving his lips like he’s singing the song, but he’s actually not. That’s called lip-synching in drag language. It’s, like, the main thing drag queens do. They do that a lot on RuPaul’s Drag Race when they’re lip-synching for their lives. And that’s how I have to think of Julian right now—as Miss Coco Caliente, Mistress of Madness and Mayhem, lip-synching for her life. Because Julian is like a whole different person up there.

  The next couple of minutes are a blur of jerky dance moves, twirling, strutting back and forth from one side of the stage to the other, and lots of finger pointing—at us, at Colton standing on the side of the stage holding his iPad, at the ceiling, at the riding lawn mower in the corner, at a bicycle, and everything in between. I may not be an expert yet, but it sure seems like Julian has this drag queen thing down pat—the moves, the look, and the attitude. He definitely has the it factor. That’s, like, the most important thing ever when you’re judging a professional audition. You gotta look for someone with the it factor. And I should know, because I’m doing that right now.

  Lyla and Gabby are really into it. I’ve never seen Lyla with her mouth open so long without a lot of annoying words coming out. Mrs. Vasquez has this little grin on her face as she watches Julian, like this is nothing new to her. Julian’s abuela kind of bounces in her seat and sways to the beat of the song.

  As the song winds down, Julian circles the center of the stage a couple of times. Then all of sudden, on the last beat of the music, he drops into a full-on split, throwing his hands up in the air. I can’t believe my eyes. I’ve never seen a big dude do a split before. Especially in a sparkly green dress and red high heels.

  For a couple of seconds the garage is completely silent. Then we’re all on our feet clapping and yelling our heads off. I even try the two-finger whistle, but nothing comes out. It never does. Julian’s face lights up at our reaction. Somehow he wrangles his body out of that split and up off the floor. After taking a dramatic bow, he steps down off the stage like he’s worn high heels since he was a baby drag queen. Walking over to him, I extend my hand because I think that’s the professional thing to do.

  “Hello, Miss Coco,” I say. “I’m Michael Pruitt, your talent agent.”

  Julian shakes his head with a healthy dose of stank face. “Michael, it’s me. Julian. You know that, right?”

  “Oh. Um. Yeah, I know,” I say. “It just feels like I’m meeting Coco Caliente, Mistress of Madness and Mayhem, for the first time.”

  Julian laughs at that, but it wasn’t a joke. At least he shakes my hand and doesn’t leave me hanging. Lyla stares up at him with wonder lighting her eyes. Like he’s a drag Santa Claus.

  “That was amazing,” Lyla says kind of quietly, like she’s in church.

  “Thanks,” Julian says, smiling with his whole face.

  Colton comes over to us holding a white hand towel, which he uses to dab the sweat from Julian’s forehead like he’s a professional boxer and Colton is his trainer. And then everyone is quiet. And they’re all staring at me. It’s super-crazy awkward. I guess they’re all waiting to hear what I thought about Julian’s performance. I look at each of their faces—Julian, Mrs. Vasquez, Abuela, Gabby, Lyla, Colton, Colton, Colton—trying to remember what the judges on RuPaul’s Drag Race usually say
to the contestants because that seems like the smart thing to do.

  “Wow,” I say to Julian. “You better werk!”

  I wag my finger through the air in front of him, from his wig down to his high heels. I think my head might have moved from side to side a little, too, even though I didn’t plan on that. It must happen automatically with whole-body finger wagging.

  Lyla looks at me like I have four heads. I guess that’s fair. I’ve never said some of those words before and I’ve definitely never wagged my finger at anyone. A huge grin explodes across Julian’s face. Mrs. Vasquez and Colton seem happy with my response, too.

  “You seriously liked it?” Julian asks, straightening his wig a little. “You promise?”

  I try to remember some more Drag Race judge responses.

  “Yaaas, honey!”

  I feel kind of silly saying it and it came out a lot louder than I’d planned. It’s also the first time that I’ve ever called another dude honey or said yaaas in my life, but it makes everyone laugh and not in a Tommy Jenrette–jerk kind of way. Even Lyla chuckles a little.

  I clear my throat because I need to get into professional-talent-agent mode. “I mean, of course I see some room for improvement, and I have some ideas for your act. You know, to take it to the next level like you said you wanted.”

  I really don’t have any ideas for Julian’s act and I’m not even sure what the next level for a drag kid is. But my mouth is on autopilot now and I am helpless to stop it. Sometimes I feel like my mouth is my business partner. And definitely not the silent kind.

  “You know, fine-tuning and all that stuff,” I add, nodding like they should all understand what I mean.

  Julian nods back like he knows exactly what I’m talking about even though I don’t even know what I’m talking about.

  “What did you think about the ending, Mikey?” Colton asks shyly, stepping in beside me.

  It’s the first time he’s ever said my name, or talked to me directly, which seems weird given how much I think about him.