Middle School's a Drag, You Better Werk!

by Greg Howard

  “Silence,” I say, loud enough to quiet everyone down while clapping twice. It totally works just the way it does for Miss RuPaul. “Okay, Stuart. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Stuart nods once. He pulls the Spider-Man mask over his head and fiddles with something in the seat of his chair. Then, sitting up straight and puffing out his bony chest, he launches into action.

  “Stop right there, Green Goblin!”

  Stuart yells it pretty loud, making some people jump a little in their seats. Forbes lifts his head and growls, but Stuart just keeps on going. I guess Spider-Man isn’t afraid of overweight cocker spaniels. Poor Forbes.

  Stuart leans forward, pointing at me. “You can’t kidnap my girlfriend, Gwen Stacy, blow up New York City, and kick that little dog and get away with it. Not while I’m around. I’m Spider-Man. And your reign of terror is over!”

  Everyone is on the edge of their seats waiting to see what will happen next, and that’s probably just what Stuart wanted. Because all of a sudden, he throws out both arms and web-zaps us all with cans of Silly String in each hand. Julian screams and I mean he scream-screams when the Silly String gets in his hair. Colton yelps in surprise, while Trey and Dinesh laugh hysterically behind me. The Silly String is everywhere, all over Lyla and her Hello Kitty clipboard, all over Forbes, and it completely covers me, Colton, and Julian at the table in a giant web-cocoon.

  After the initial shock of the attack, everyone goes still and quiet. I’m sure they’re waiting to see how I’ll react to Stuart’s stunt before they do. After a good, long dramatic pause, I shoot up out of my seat. Burst through the ceiling of the web-cocoon clapping and yelling like crazy.

  Now that’s what I call pizzazz.

  13

  THE NEW CLIENTS

  The last act to audition is Sadie Cooper and her blind, high-jumping, three-legged pit bull, Fifi. And let me tell you, if you’re blind and a three-legged pit bull that can jump back and forth over Sadie Cooper while she’s down on her hands and knees, consider me impressed and yourself a new client of Anything Talent and Pizzazz Agency. The audience goes crazy when Sadie and Fifi bow at the end of the act, which for Fifi means bending the one front leg that she still has.

  “Wow,” I say over the applause. “That was amazing, Fifi. And you, too, Sadie.”

  Sadie guides Fifi over to the wall to wait beside Lyla for my decision. This is going to be super-crazy tough. It’s safe to say that Stuart Baxter is in, the way he brought the house down with his Spider-Man impersonation and his surprise special effects. I mean, I still have bits of Silly String in my hair and I had to take off Dad’s sunglasses because the lenses were caked with the stuff. And Julian seemed super impressed with Charvi’s interpretation of his dream about his dad having long blond hair. She told him it meant that one day his dad would come around and accept Julian doing drag. It seems kind of unlikely, but it made Julian happy—which gave me a great idea of how to use Charvi’s talent. And Brady Hill’s jokes were super-crazy funny. I could probably get him booked on Later Tonight with Billy Shannon in no time flat.

  “Okay,” I say, clapping my hands once because that seems like the perfect thing to do at such an important moment in the history of Anything, Inc.

  I look out into the audience and ponder my choices. Everyone is staring back at me like I’m about to read the winning lottery numbers for a gazillion-dollar jackpot. I guess this is sort of like that.

  “I want to thank you for coming out and auditioning today,” I say. “You all did an incredible job. So give yourselves a hand.”

  “Yaaas!” Julian calls out with his signature around-the-world snap.

  Colton laughs and everyone else claps real loud. Trey and Dinesh even add a couple of whoop-whoop fist pumps.

  I clasp my hands together in front of me because I think that makes me look super-crazy serious and important. “Like I said, I’m looking to fill three open spots on my client roster.”

  The carport goes silent. Sadie kneels, closes her eyes, and hugs Fifi. Brady and Charvi hold hands real tight. Stuart sits in his wheelchair, pointing two cans of Silly String at me, whatever that means. But that’s when I realize something. They all want this. Like, bad. And who can blame them? It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. Their entire futures are in my hands.

  This must be how Simon Cowell feels right before he crushes dreams. But the idea of crushing someone’s dreams actually feels a lot worse than I thought it would. And the idea of making someone feel like a loser, the way some people at school make me feel sometimes, well, it just sucks. But Pap Pruitt says when you run a successful business, you have to make tough decisions. Unfortunately I can’t, like, go to a commercial and reveal the results when we return to the show. You know, because of this being real life and all.

  I clear my throat. “The newest clients of the Anything Talent and Pizzazz Agency are . . .”

  It feels right to pause before I announce my final decision. That’s called a dramatic pause. Miss RuPaul does it all the time on Drag Race. When I glance up, I see three bicycles turn into our driveway. No one in the audience notices the intruders because they’re sitting with their backs to the street. But I see them. And when I do, my heart drops down to my stomach. Tommy Jenrette, Colby Brown, and Trace Williams race up the driveway to the carport going like ninety miles per hour and skid to a stop right behind the audience like they’re in some kind of Fast and Furious movie for bicycles. Everyone turns in their seats to see what all the ruckus is about.

  Tommy Jenrette looks around the carport with a sneer. Then he looks straight at me. My face goes hot and suddenly I have to pee real bad.

  “Oh,” I say. “What’s up, Tommy? Hey, Trace. Hey, Colby.”

  My voice is shakier than usual. And I wonder if Tommy knows that a single stream of sweat just ran down my back. Or that I’m about to pee myself. I feel like everyone knows, but I guess that’s impossible. Tommy just ignores me, like I didn’t say anything at all. He reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a blue sheet of paper. I recognize it as soon as he starts unfolding it. It’s the flyer that I put up in the cafeteria.

  “We came for the auditions,” Tommy says. I can tell by the look on his face that they didn’t. “But we must be in the wrong place, because this looks more like a freak convention.”

  Laughing, Trace and Colby high-five each other like a couple of idiots.

  Colby points over at Sadie and Fifi. “Oh, man, look at that messed-up dog. That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  The three of them laugh hysterically at Fifi and I hope that Fifi can’t understand what they’re saying about her. It would probably hurt her feelings.

  “Maybe that’s Mikey’s big new business idea,” Trace adds. “Freak Conventions R Us.”

  I let out a nervous chuckle, like that was super funny even though it wasn’t. Actually it was pretty mean. And who ever heard of a freak convention? It’s a terrible business idea. I clear my throat.

  “No, um. We’re having auditions,” I say. “For my new talent agency. Like the flyer says.”

  Tommy, Colby, and Trace look at one another and then crack up.

  “Talent agency?” Tommy says. “Oh, man. He’s serious. Wow. That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “The auditions are over,” Julian says sharply, without looking at them. “So if you just came to make fun of us, you can leave now.”

  Lyla takes a small but defiant step toward the boys, pointing right at Tommy. “Yeah. Y’all better get out of here before my big brother kicks your butts.”

  She points at me and OMG, Lyla! We’ve had our differences since the day she could walk and talk, but I don’t think Lyla’s trying to get me killed on purpose. The hard, determined look in her eye tells me that she actually believes I could kick Tommy Jenrette’s butt. And I guess it’s pretty cool that my little sister has that
kind of faith in me, even though she’s dead wrong.

  Tommy and his friends bust out laughing. Like what Lyla just said is the funniest joke they’ve ever heard. And I’m the punch line. I hope that doesn’t mean Tommy is going to punch me.

  “Who?” Tommy says with a snort. “Gay Mikey Pruitt? He’s going to kick our butts?”

  I think I stop breathing for a few seconds. Did he just say gay Mikey Pruitt? How the heck does Tommy know about me and the whole gay thing? Trey and Dinesh promised not to say anything and the only other people I told are Mom and Dad. Oh, and Julian, I guess. The last thing I wanted was for people like Tommy Jenrette to find out. I want to say something. Something like, Why the heck would you think I’m gay and why would you even say something so dumb, Tommy Jenrette? But my lips are glued shut.

  Colby looks around the carport. “Oh, man. Gay Mikey Pruitt is having a freaks and gays convention.”

  He points at Julian and laughs like a hyena. Trey and Dinesh slouch down in their chairs like they’re trying to become invisible. Colton and Julian are sitting in the front row with their eyes glued on the floor. The rest of the kids look completely terrified, all wide eyes and fidgety hands. Even Fifi sniffs the air in Tommy’s direction and then cowers behind Sadie’s legs. I keep hoping my voice will return any second now and that I’ll give Tommy, Colby, and Trace the telling-off they deserve. But it never does. I just stand there like an idiot while they laugh at all of us. It’s official—I’m definitely the worst gay ever. I should probably get a trophy or something.

  “My mom and dad are right next door and they’ll be home soon,” Lyla says, planting her hands on her hips. “And then you’re going to be in big trouble.”

  OMG, Lyla, just stop talking! I guess she’s given up on the me-kicking-Tommy’s-butt thing. And I kind of hate that I’ve disappointed her.

  “Ooh,” all three boys say with their hands in the air like Lyla is arresting them.

  “We’re sooo scared of your mommy and daddy,” Tommy says with a smirk. “Are they gay, too? Are you gay, little girl? Is your whole family gay?”

  More hysterical laughter, and I don’t know why Tommy keeps saying that word over and over. I wish he would stop. Now Lyla will want to know what he’s talking about. She probably doesn’t even know what gay means. And if Tommy Jenrette is saying that about me here, then he’s probably saying it about me at school.

  Tommy, Colby, and Trace eventually stop laughing. I don’t know what’s about to happen. I pray that Stuart doesn’t shoot them with his Silly String webs. Or that Lyla doesn’t say anything else—like telling Tommy, Colby, and Trace again that I’m going to kick their butts. I’ve never kicked anyone’s butt in my life and wouldn’t know how even if I wanted to. Dad always says it’s best not to give bullies any reaction at all. That way they just get bored and move on. I guess it’s worth a try. So by silent agreement that’s what we do. We all just stay quiet and still.

  Finally, Tommy shakes his head and turns his bike around. “Come on, guys. This is lame. Let’s go.”

  Colby and Trace follow Tommy down the driveway. Trace hocks a loogie on the concrete, which seems unnecessary and rude, but what do I know about being a bully?

  Everyone stares up at me. They all seem a lot less happy than they did before Tommy and his friends interrupted the big announcement. Julian isn’t smiling or snapping anymore. His face is like stone. Colton’s eyes are kind of blank and sad. And the kids who auditioned aren’t ready to hang on my every word. They just look like they want to go home. I get it. I’m already home and I want to go home.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and find my voice again. “Lyla, please write down the names of the newest clients of the Anything Talent and Pizzazz Agency.”

  Lyla doesn’t hold up her Hello Kitty clipboard like she’s going to write anything down, though.

  “Stuart Baxter,” I say.

  Stuart looks up at me like he’s super surprised. A smile stretches out his face, and he gives me two thumbs-up. No Silly String.

  “Sadie Cooper and Fifi,” I say.

  Fifi sits up at attention at the mention of her name and Sadie hugs her tight. I figured it was best to take them as a team, even though Fifi’s the one with all the talent and pizzazz.

  “Brady Hill.”

  Brady claps for himself and a chuckle rolls around the carport. That kid is super funny.

  I pause. Charvi sinks down into her chair, crossing her arms with a super-crazy-sad look on her face. But she doesn’t know that I’ve already decided that nobody’s dreams are getting crushed today.

  “And Charvi Lahiri,” I announce.

  Everyone gasps. At least that’s what I hear in my head. One big, old, entire-crowd gay gasp. Like they’re all amazed by my generosity. And they should be.

  They all erupt with applause. Julian and Colton are on their feet clapping, Colton shooting me that stomach-in-the-blender wicked-cool smile of his. Trey and Dinesh are whoop whooping and punching the air. Lyla even grins—just a little. Fifi and Forbes bark like crazy at all the noise, between sniffing each other’s butt. Stuart chases Brady around in circles with his wheelchair, spraying a can of Silly String, both of them cheering and laughing.

  It’s nice seeing everyone so happy. I feel warm all over, and have a super-crazy-hard time imagining why Simon Cowell would ever want to crush anyone’s dreams.

  14

  THE VERY IMPORTANT CALL

  As soon as I get home from school on Monday, I go straight to my office and make the very important call I’ve been thinking about making since the auditions on Saturday. I sit in my executive chair with my feet propped up on the desk, staring at Dad’s Weed Eater hanging on the wall, as the phone rings a third time in my ear. Dad got it activated for me this morning. Mom only agreed to break the no-phone-until-you’re-thirteen rule because it’s Dad’s old flip phone and you can’t use any apps on it or anything like that. And it takes, like, an hour to text three words. But it’s okay. The phone part works well enough to connect me to the real-life NBC Studios in New York City. I’ve already been put on hold three times, which I think is kind of unprofessional, and I’m starting to lose my patience.

  This is the kind of thing my junior talent coordinator should be doing, but I have her working on something else right now. She’s sitting in the metal folding chair beside me—Pooty the Murder Kitty in her lap, of course—correcting all 250 business cards, turning pizza into pizzazz. I don’t have enough money in my operating budget to have them reprinted, so correcting them by hand will have to do. Lyla agreed to do it only if she could use her Hello Kitty pen with purple ink, though. Whatever.

  “Later Tonight with Billy Shannon, how may I direct your call?” a man’s voice finally says.

  I clear my throat and lower my voice because that seems like the professional thing to do. “Yes, hello. My name is Michael Pruitt, president, founder, and CEO of Anything Talent and Pizzazz Agency, and I’d like to speak to Mr. Billy Shannon, please. It’s urgent.”

  There’s a pause on the line before the man responds. “I’m sorry, what is this regarding? And how did you get this number?”

  “Google,” I answer.

  Lyla looks up at me and I point to the phone.

  “I think I got an intern,” I say to her in a whisper.

  She nods once like she understands my pain and would never want to deal with just an intern, either.

  “I need to speak to Mr. Shannon right away. Did I mention it’s urgent? I represent the hottest new comedic talent in all of show business. Maybe you’ve heard of him. Brady Hill?”

  Another pause on the line. “Um, no. I can safely say that I’ve never heard of your client. Are you with CTA, sir?”

  I write on my yellow legal pad:

  CTA

  I’m not 100 percent sure what CTA is, but it sounds like it could be one of my competitor
s because when I first googled talent agencies I saw that a lot of them use initials as their agency name. I google it really fast and find out that CTA stands for Creative Talent Agency. That’s a super-crazy-boring name.

  “No,” I say, turning the name of my agency into an acronym in my head, which I should have thought of sooner. “Like I said before, I’m with . . . um . . . ATAPA.”

  That actually sounds pretty cool. I write that down, too.

  “And I’d like to speak to Mr. Shannon about my client Brady Hill making his television debut on Later Tonight. I’m sure it’ll boost your ratings. This kid has tons of pizzazz. And I should know, since I have my own talent agency and I’m a pizzazz expert.”

  Lyla nods without looking up from her work. I guess she approves of how I’m handling this call. Like she’s in charge and I work for her. There’s another pause and what sounds like a muffled chuckle on the line.

  Lyla taps my shoulder. “What are they saying now?”

  I press my index finger to my lips. She shrugs and goes back to adding two z’s to the word pizza on one of my cards. It’s a little messy, but you know, she’s only nine.

  “Mr. Shannon is unavailable,” the man says. “But I can transfer you to our booking desk.”

  I sigh loudly into the phone so the guy knows how unhappy I am about not being able to speak to Billy Shannon directly.

  “Okay,” I say. “I guess that will be okay. Thank you, sir.”

  Dang. I shouldn’t have called him sir. It makes me sound like some kind of little kid.

  “Hold, please,” the man says.

  Some cheesy music plays while I’m on hold. I don’t think it’s anything Coco Caliente could dance and lip-synch to, so I tune it out. I glance over at Lyla. She scratches Pooty’s back and his eyes droop like he just ate a whole catnip cake.