Middle School's a Drag, You Better Werk!

by Greg Howard

  It just might be the best moment of my life so far—so many people clapping and standing and yelling my name, Julian’s big old trophy and cardboard check that I helped him win, my family and friends all here to share in my first huge business success. The only thing that could make it all better would be if Pap Pruitt were here. I wish he could see me now. He’d be the most proud of me for being myself, and for not caring what anyone else thinks. And then I realize something else wicked cool. It doesn’t matter what all of North Charleston Middle School thinks, or my parents, my friends, Colton, or even Pap Pruitt. Because I’m proud of myself. And that’s better than the longest standing ovation in history, which I’m pretty sure this is.

  The thought makes me smile so hard my cheeks hurt. Julian hands me the trophy. I raise it high in the air to more cheers, applause, and thunderous joy.

  I whisper, “This is for you, Pap.”

  30

  THE BIG TIME

  The lobby outside the auditorium is packed with parents chatting with teachers, students saying goodbye to each other for the summer, and one plus-size drag-kid talent-contest winner being swarmed by people wanting to congratulate him. I stand back, giving Julian room to be the center of attention and the good kind of popular. He deserves it. People who never would have talked to Julian during the school year now act like he’s their best friend. Weird.

  Heather Hobbs asks Julian how he styles his wig to give it those swooping wings on each side. Taylor Hope wants to borrow the red sparkly dress to perform in at a beauty pageant she has coming up. Chad Charles begs Julian to teach him some new dance moves. Manny’s speaking to Julian in rapid-fire Spanish, I guess telling him how good the death drop was, because Julian nailed it. Even Mr. Arnold wants his picture taken with Coco Caliente, Mistress of Madness and Mayhem. Actually just about everyone wants a selfie with Miss Coco. And Julian is loving every minute of it. Divas, am I right?

  I look over to find Mom, Dad, and Lyla walking toward me. Dad grabs me and hugs me tight. I’m glad I changed into my jeans before we came out, otherwise I’m sure my underwear would be on full display right about now.

  “Big day for the company,” he says. “Your clients were amazing.”

  Mom slips an arm around my shoulder. “Where did you learn to dance like that? I wish Pap could have seen that. He used to be quite the dancer himself. Maybe you got that from him, too.”

  Mom’s eyes grow glassy. Dad’s even glassier. And I get it. They’re trying to prepare me for what’s to come. Pap won’t be around much longer. I’ve known that for a long time. But I don’t want to cry in front of all my friends, so I look away fast.

  I spot Colton, his mom, and his grandma talking to Sadie and Brady. His mom has her arm around his shoulders, just like mine does. She has the same reddish-brown hair as Colton, and even the same wicked-cool smile. Colton has his arm around her waist real tight like he doesn’t want to let her go. He glances over and catches me staring at him. But he doesn’t call the stalker police or anything. He just smiles and waves.

  Stomach smoothie anyone?

  “Oh yeah,” Dad says. He play-punches my shoulder and gives me a cheesy dad grin and—OMG!—he caught me staring at Colton. “Now, who is that handsome young man over there?”

  “Ew, Dad,” I say. “That’s my friend. Colton.”

  Lyla is hanging on to Dad’s leg and swinging back and forth. “Is he your boyfriend?”

  “Lyla,” Mom says. “Stop being nosy.” She points at Dad. “You too. Behave.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say, pulling her closer to me.

  I can’t believe she kind of–sort of scolded Lyla and basically told Dad to mind his own business, which I want to do, like, all the time, but it never seems like the smart thing to do.

  Dad holds up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Sorry. All I was going to say is that Mikey might like to ask his friend Colton to join us for ice cream before we head back over to Prince George to check on Pap. I know he’ll want to hear all about the show.”

  Okay. So that’s not the worst idea Dad’s ever had.

  “Maybe,” I say. “I’ll ask him. But his mom and grandma are here and he hasn’t seen his mom in a while.”

  “Invite them along, too,” Mom says. “We’d love to meet them. But only if you want to, honey.”

  Before I can respond, I spot Julian’s dad making his way through the crowd. He’s so tall and wide it’s hard to miss him. Mrs. Vasquez and Abuela are following close after him and—OMG!—he’s heading straight for Julian. I’m beginning to wonder if I made a huge mistake inviting him here.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say to Mom and Dad, and hurry over to head off Mr. Vasquez.

  I don’t want him to ruin this moment for Julian and I guess I’m willing to sacrifice myself to prevent that because that seems like the good-friend thing to do.

  Colton must have the same idea because he’s also on an intercept course with Mr. Vasquez. But we’re too late. Mr. Vasquez rushes up and the crowd around Julian parts, giving his dad a close-up look at his son standing there in full drag. In public.

  Crap.

  I don’t hesitate or think, which always seems to be my downfall. I just push my way through the crowd, stepping in front of Julian and facing Mr. Vasquez, who’s got to be, like, four times my size, at least. Colton stands right beside me, helping me block Julian from his father. We both put our hands on our hips and widen our stance, just like our pose from the “Born This Way” dance routine.

  Julian puts a hand on my back. “It’s okay, Michael.”

  I look over my shoulder. “No, it’s not okay.”

  “Michael, don’t,” Mrs. Vasquez says from somewhere close by.

  I face Mr. Vasquez and point my finger at him.

  “That is your son,” I say, with a kind of scary edge in my voice. “And you’re his father.”

  Okay, it wasn’t quite the burn I was hoping for. Those are just basic facts. I try again.

  “There’s nothing wrong with him,” I say. “He’s a super-crazy-cool person, he’s more talented than most of the kids at this school, he’s loyal, he’s honest, he’s funny, and if he were my son, I would be wicked proud of him. And he’s my friend.”

  “And mine,” Colton says, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Trey slips away from his mom a few feet away and slides in next to me. “Mine too.” He sizes up Mr. Vasquez and swallows hard. “Sir.”

  “He’s my friend, too,” Dinesh says, standing next to Trey. His mom and dad stand behind him like bodyguards, which I think is pretty cool of Mr. and Mrs. Lahiri.

  Stuart drives his wheelchair right over Mr. Vasquez’s shoe to get near us. “And mine.”

  “Ours too,” Sadie says, leading Fifi in and standing beside Colton.

  Fifi growls at Mr. Vasquez, but she’s looking in, like, a whole different direction.

  Mr. Vasquez looks at each of us, one by one, but his face is kind of blank and I can’t really tell what he’s thinking.

  “Julian’s my friend, too, Mr. Vasquez,” Charvi says, joining Sadie’s side.

  Brady walks up to us, clueless as usual. “Yo, what did I miss?” He eyes Julian’s dad suspiciously. “Well, whatever this is, count me in.”

  Mr. Vasquez shakes his head and sighs. And a second later, even Lyla joins us.

  She crosses her arms, peering up at him just as serious as she can be. Like David facing down Goliath. “Mister, do you know how lucky you are to have Julian for a son?”

  Wow. There may be hope for my sister, after all.

  She points a thumb over her shoulder in my direction. “If not, I’m sure my mom and dad would be glad to trade you Mikey for Julian.”

  And we’re back.

  “Yeah, Daddy,” Gabby says, planting herself beside Lyla. “You should be proud of Julian. He’s amazing.”

 
For a few seconds, I don’t have any idea what’s going to happen. We all stare up at Mr. Vasquez. His hard, crackled face and almost-black eyes are hard to read. Mrs. Vasquez stands behind her husband, shaking her head like she’s watching a terrible car crash and can’t look away. A small crowd has gathered around us. I notice a tall woman with short dark hair wearing red-framed glasses standing just a few feet away from us, watching the whole thing.

  Finally Mr. Vasquez’s face softens a bit. “May I please speak to my son?”

  He asks so nicely that we’re all caught off guard. And we don’t know whether to let him by or not. But I feel Julian behind me, pushing through our line of defense. He stands in front of his father, facing him like a talented, proud drag kid with a ton of pizzazz would.

  Mr. Vasquez scans Julian up and down, from his wig to his high heels. He rests a hand on Julian’s shoulder, like the way my dad does to me sometimes.

  He looks Julian in the eye and leans in close. “You are my Julian. You are my son. And I am proud of you. I don’t want you to doubt that ever again. I’m sorry for the way I acted. I thought I was protecting you. The world is full of cruel people. I worry about you.” He nods down to Julian’s dress. “I might not understand . . . this,” he says with a slight chuckle. “But I will learn, mijo. You will teach me, yes?”

  Julian’s face is tight and his eyes wet. I can tell he’s trying to hold back tears as he nods at his father. Tears slide down his cheeks anyway. Mr. Vasquez pulls Julian into a hug— wig, dress, high heels, and all. Mrs. Vasquez wraps her arms around them both.

  Colton and I exchange a what-the-heck-just-happened? look.

  Mr. Vasquez finally steps back and does something else I didn’t see coming. He grabs Julian’s wig, yanking it right off his head, and—OMG! For a second I think that he fooled us and this was his plan all along. Just to get close enough to Julian to snatch him bald, as Pap Pruitt likes to say. But before Julian has a chance to react, Mr. Vasquez pulls the wig down on top of his own head and poses with one hand on his hip and the other straight up in the air the way Miss Coco does.

  “How do I look, mijo?” he asks Julian, looking pretty silly and unprofessional.

  We all wait, holding our breath to see how Julian reacts. Coco Caliente was just de-wigged right here in the lobby of North Charleston Middle School in front of everyone, after all. It could go either way.

  Julian takes a step back, planting a hand on his hip and looking his dad up and down. “Um, we have some work to do, honey. I mean, Dad.”

  Mr. Vasquez laughs and throws an arm around Julian. “Let’s go home, mijo.”

  Julian waves goodbye to us as he lets his wig-wearing dad lead him, Gabby, his mom, and his abuela out of the building and—OMG!—it hits me. This was just like Julian’s dream, and the way Charvi interpreted it was exactly what just happened. That is way cool and a little creepy. I’ll need to double her rates. Well, once I get her a paying gig, because you can’t double free.

  Trey and Dinesh fist-bump me before they leave, because that’s how straight boys tell you that they’re your friend and they love you.

  I turn to Colton. “Hey. So, my mom and dad want to know if you and your mom and grandma want to come have ice cream with us.”

  Colton’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. “That’d be great! I’ll go ask them.”

  As soon as Colton darts away, Tommy Jenrette walks up and stands right in front of me. Crap! Just when I thought this day was perfect. Tommy shifts his weight from one side to the other. He looks super-crazy uncomfortable.

  “Hey,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can think of.

  Tommy nods, nervously glancing around the room. “Um . . . hey.” He finally looks directly at me. “You guys were so funny in the show.” He cracks a smile. Like a real, non-jerk smile.

  I relax a little, sliding my hands into my pockets. “Thanks.”

  I notice Trace and Colby standing close to the door, watching us suspiciously.

  “So, I figure you looked through my notebook,” Tommy says.

  I tense up a little, but I guess he wouldn’t kill me in front of all these people. “Yeah, I did. Sorry.”

  Tommy rocks back and forth on his heels, shaking his head. “It’s okay.”

  “I really do think you’re wicked talented, Tommy,” I say. “You should keep drawing.”

  Tommy half-smiles back at me and grunts, but not in a mean way. “You’re, like, the first person to ever tell me that I’m talented in something other than basketball.” His cheeks go a little red. “Thanks.”

  Okay, this did not go like I thought it would.

  “I was kind of jealous watching all of you in the show, doing what you love to do,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets and still rocking on his heels like he’s nervous. “This talent-agency thing of yours is pretty cool.”

  I’m surprised by what he says, but it gives me an idea. This might be the dumbest idea I’ve ever had, but I hope not. I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out one of my business cards.

  “Why don’t you come by my office tomorrow,” I say in my professional voice. “Let’s talk about your future as an artist. Maybe I can help.”

  A huge smile spreads across Tommy’s face as he takes the card and looks at it. He chuckles—probably because of the whole pizza thing. That’s fair.

  “Really?” he says. He slings his brown mop-top hair out of his eyes. “You would do that? For me?”

  He probably says it because he’s been such a jerk to me all these years and he can’t believe that I would ever want to help him.

  Michael Pruitt Business Tip #374: Sometimes you should swallow your pride and help people not just because it’s the professional thing to do, but because it’s the right thing to do.

  I nod. “Sure. Why not?”

  Tommy pockets the card and gives me another big non-jerk smile. “Cool. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And he takes off toward Trace and Colby.

  I head over to my parents, but the tall lady with the red-framed glasses who was watching us earlier heads me off. She holds out her hand to me like a professional businessperson would. “Hi there. I’m Sara Dimery with CTA.”

  CTA sounds familiar, but my brain is exhausted right now. I guess I look at her like I don’t know what that is, because she explains.

  “Creative Talent Agency,” she says.

  And—OMG!—a real-live talent agent. Not that I’m not a real-live talent agent. But, like, you know, wow.

  “Oh, um, well, yeah.” Because that seems like the professional thing to say. I finally shake her hand because it was hanging out there forever. “Michael Pruitt, with . . . um . . . ATAPA.” I hope I got the letters in the right order.

  Her face crinkles like she doesn’t know what language I’m speaking. “So, I understand that you are Julian’s agent.”

  I open my mouth, but my voice fails me. I scold myself internally: Okay, pull it together, Pruitt. None of this foolishness now. Do. Not. Try. Me. Not today, Satan. Not today.

  I clear my throat and drop my voice about a gazillion notches. “Yes, I am. Very nice to meet you.”

  She smiles at me. Finally.

  “I was very impressed with your client today,” says Sara Dimery of the Creative Talent Agency also known as CTA. “He has a certain something. A certain . . . a certain . . .”

  “Pizzazz,” I say, helping her out.

  Her grin widens. “Exactly. I can tell you know what I’m talking about.”

  “All the best talent agents know pizzazz when they see it,” I say with a confident nod.

  Sara Dimery of CTA laughs but not in a mean way. Just like we’re talking at a party and I said something super funny.

  “I’m in town visiting family and came to see my niece sing in the show,” she says. “Taylor Hope?”

  “Yes,” I
say, casually sliding my hands into my pockets. “That’s her name.”

  She laughs again, reaching into her purse. “Here’s my card,” she says, holding a business card out to me. “There’s a casting call for a new reality competition show for the GoodFlix network. It’s called America’s Next Drag Kid Sensation. I think Coco Caliente would be a perfect fit for it. I would love for Julian to audition.” She leans back, raising an eyebrow at me. “If you think that’s the right next move for his career after winning the North Charleston Middle School talent contest, that is.”

  She gives me what seems like a flirty smile. That must be a New York thing. But Sara Dimery of CTA is definitely climbing up the wrong tree. You know, because of the whole me-being-gay thing. Plus I’m only twelve.

  I dig around in my back pocket and thankfully find the one business card left there. I pull it out and hand it to her.

  “That sounds interesting,” I say, trying to act like it’s not that interesting at all, even though it’s super-crazy interesting. But I don’t want to seem too desperate—bad for contract negotiations. “I’d love to talk to you more about that mildly interesting idea. Julian has some time open in his calendar in the next couple of months.”

  Yeah, like we all do. It’s called summer break.

  Sara Dimery of CTA inspects my card. “You’re a . . . pizza expert?”

  My face heats from the inside out. Dang it, Lyla. She must have missed correcting that one. I guess you get what you pay for when it comes to employees.

  “Just a slight printing error,” I say, like that’s a normal thing. “Pizzazz expert.”

  She smiles and nods. “All right, then, Mr. Pruitt. I will be in touch.”

  “I look forward to it, Ms. Dimery,” I say, because that seems like the professional response.

  She chuckles, waves, and walks away and—OMG! Wow. Wow. Wow.

  The lobby is beginning to clear out. My parents and Lyla wait for me by the door. Colton was talking to his mom and grandma but now comes running over.

  “They said yes,” he says with an ear-to-ear grin. He pushes his hair out of his eyes. “They want to go get ice cream with you guys.”