Martin McLean, Middle School Queen

by Alyssa Zaczek

  “Kind of like magic, huh?” he said to me when he was finished. I blinked, surprised he’d even address me, and then I realized who he was: Aida Lott! The beautiful queen I had seen at my first show! My face turned hot.

  “It—it is,” I stuttered, starstruck. “Is it hard to wash off?”

  “You know, I’m in drag so much these days, sometimes it feels like I should just shave the damn things off.”

  “People do that?” I asked. Tío Billy nodded and set to work applying foundation to my face with an egg-shaped pink sponge.

  “Oh, yeah,” Aida said, taking a dark cosmetics pencil to an area well above her natural brow. “People do all sorts of weird things to look good in drag. And just when I feel like I’ve seen it all, some new trend comes out and blows me away.” Aida and Tío Billy exchanged a knowing look.

  “How long have you been doing drag?” I asked. Immediately I worried that I had asked a rude question. But Aida answered right away.

  “Oh, wow, fifteen years? Give or take?”

  “And you’re still an amateur?”

  She burst out laughing. Okay, that was definitely a rude question. The blood rushed to my face. “I just mean—All-Ages Night is for amateurs and I—um—” I stammered, but she didn’t seem to be offended.

  “Oh, honey,” she fanned her face with her hands to keep the tears of laughter from ruining her makeup. “I haven’t been read like that in a minute.” Behind me, Tío Billy shook with silent laughter too. “Yes, handsome, I’m still an amateur. Haven’t managed to hit it big yet, plus, momma’s gotta pay her bills. I’m an anesthesiologist when I’m not performing.”

  Fifteen years! And still an amateur! Clearly, I had a lot to learn, and a long way to go. I swept the room with my eyes and wondered how many of the other performers had been doing drag for that long.

  Aida gestured to me with her pencil, raising an eyebrow. “You know, I was just about your age when I started messing around with drag.”

  “Really?” I asked. Tío Billy swiped a warm brown contour shade into the hollows of my cheeks.

  “Sure. Oh, I wasn’t competing or anything like that, just flouncing around in dresses and makeup in my bedroom. You’re lucky—there was no way I could have been performing when I was as young as you.” She started to work on her other eyebrow, sketching in an arching shape with light, feathery strokes. “No, the world has changed since I was a kiddo. Now there’s all sorts of ways for young people to get involved in the scene. You’re living in the golden age of drag, my friend.”

  She stuck out her hand, like an old-timey princess with her wrist sort of limp as though she expected it to be kissed.

  “I’m Aida Lott,” she said.

  “I know,” I said bashfully. Then I realized she was waiting for me to introduce myself too. “I’m . . . Lottie León.”

  The name felt so right coming off my lips and in my voice. I took her hand, and we didn’t shake, just sort of squeezed each other’s palms respectfully. It was like a meeting of two powerful ambassadors, and it made me feel very professional, like a real drag queen.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Lottie,” Aida said. “Break a leg tonight.”

  “That means ‘good luck,’” Tío Billy whispered in my ear.

  “I know!” I hissed back. But I couldn’t help smiling. I’ve made my first drag queen friend. So far, so good.

  Tío Billy worked on my face, carefully applying hot pink glitter and big false lashes, and the room began to fill up. More queens and their entourages arrived with makeup cases and wig stands in tow, loudly claiming the empty spots at the mirror. The fuller the room became, the more Mom started to pace.

  “Why don’t you go save us some seats, Gena?” Tío Billy asked, as Mom wrung her hands for the millionth time. She looked relieved to be dismissed.

  “Okay,” she said, putting an arm around me. “I’ll be rooting for you out there, baby.”

  “Big crowds make your mother nervous,” Tío Billy said after Mom left the room. He added the finishing touches to my lipstick with a flourish. “Speaking of mothers,” he said as he sharpened his brown eye pencil. “Have you ever heard of drag families?” I shook my head.

  “In drag culture, more experienced queens tend to sort of ‘adopt’ new ones. They become drag mother and daughter.” He blew a flurry of pencil shavings off the liner with a flourish. “I know Lottie León and Cassie Blanca don’t share a name, but I think it’s fair to say they’re family, don’t you?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Would you like me to be your drag mother?” Tío Billy asked gently.

  “Of course!” I exclaimed. I have a drag mother!

  “Ah-ah-ah! Don’t move!” Tío Billy had me relax my face, then he penciled in a beauty mark just like the one Cassie Blanca had, on my left side. “There. Perfect! Okay, wig time.”

  Shortly before the show was set to start, Dorie poked her head into the green room.

  “Listen up, ladies!” she called over the din of house music and excited chatter. She lifted a sheet of paper above her head. “I have in my hand the walking order for the preliminary round!”

  An icy bolt of confusion shot through me. Walking order? Preliminary round?

  “I’m posting it here,” Dorie gestured behind her to the door. “Take a look and then line up backstage in order, please. You’re on in ten.”

  “Thank you, ten!” A few voices called from behind me, but I barely heard them. I spun around to face Tío Billy, who had gone white.

  “Preliminary round?” I asked, my voice rising. “What preliminary round?” Tío Billy muttered a stream of curse words in Spanish.

  “I didn’t know, león, I swear,” he said. “Dorie never said anything about a prelim.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” I wailed. “I only prepared one routine! And I’ll never make it to Regionals in time if I have to do two rounds!”

  “Okay, okay, don’t panic,” Tío Billy said. “Give me a minute.” And he darted out the door after Dorie.

  I stood in the center of the room, feeling helpless with my sweaty palms and shaky legs. After a minute or two, Tío Billy returned. Queens were already beginning to file out the door, getting in order backstage.

  “So,” he began, “here’s the deal. It’s a walk-off. The walk-off round determines who goes on to compete in the routine portion.”

  “A walk-off?” I cried. “I don’t know how to do a walk-off! I didn’t practice for a walk-off!”

  “Yes, you did!” Tío Billy said. “All you have to do is walk down to the front of the stage and back, giving all that Lottie León attitude. That’s it!”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “You can do it, león. I know it. And you go on fourth, which is good! Not too early in the show, not too late. The crowd will remember you that way. You’re after Anita Paycheck.”

  “Who’s she?” I asked. Tío Billy pointed discreetly to the teenager who had glared at me earlier. Now, as Anita, she was wearing a long auburn wig and barely any clothes at all, just a sparkly baby-pink bikini.

  “Oh, no,” I said, going pale. “She seemed kind of mean.”

  “Don’t worry about her,” Tío Billy said firmly. “Focus on you. Pretend you’re walking in the living room at home. Just be waiting on the stage right side when Anita goes on, okay? When she gets offstage, Dorie will announce you, then you just do your thing.”

  “But what about the second round?” I asked.

  “Let me worry about that right now,” he said firmly. “Just give this walk everything you’ve got, and we’ll figure out the rest once we get you to Regionals.”

  “Okay. Okay, okay, okay, I can do this. I can do this,” I repeated. Maybe if I say it enough times, it will become true. But true or not, I had come too far to give up on Lottie now—this walk-off was happening. I looked down at my glittery heels, then at Tío Billy. “Thank you,” I said. “For helping me get here. For everything.”

  “No way. I shoul
d be thanking you, león,” he said. “Cassie Blanca might have been your inspiration, but Lottie León? She’s mine.”

  I felt that telltale lump in my throat, but Tío Billy distracted me by throwing our special handshake—followed by a big bear hug. I breathed in deep the scent of his cologne and tried to steady myself.

  “Now go bring Lottie to the people!” he whispered. With one final adjustment to my wig, he turned and left me in the green room, alone.

  Gulp.

  I can do this. Can I do this? Why did I think I could do this? I was so nervous, I was trembling like Woofecito in the snow. What if I shake right out of my shoes?

  Don’t think about failing, I urged myself as I made my way backstage. Nearly all the queens had lined up backstage. It was almost time. What would Lottie do? She’d stomp the runway, that’s what. So that’s what she’s going to do.

  The house lights dimmed out in the audience as I found my place among the other queens. I could see strobes and flashing colors from where I stood in the wings, concealed by the curtain. In front of me, Anita Paycheck adjusted her bikini bottom. Dorie’s voice blared out from over the speakers.

  “All right, all right! Let’s get it started! Bargain Basement Babes at Hoosier Mama is bringing you the best in amateur entertainment this evening: it’s All-Ages Night!” The crowd whooped and hollered, and I heard Tío Billy’s two-finger whistle from the stage right side. “This competition is open to queens of any age, so get ready to see some new talent—and some damn near ancient ones too.” The crowd laughed, and I could hear Dorie’s grin as she continued.

  “Tonight, our queens are being judged by the audience. That means whoever gets the most applause and the best audience reaction is the winner of fame, fortune, and our fabulous prize of one thousand dollars! So, are you ready to show these ladies some love?” The crowd stomped and cheered. I was smiling—When did that happen?—but I felt like my heart might beat out of my chest. I want to win so badly. I have to. Not just to prove my worth to the other queens or to win money for a new telescope—I wanted to win for me.

  “Okay, then! Let’s get this prelim round started! Give a hearty Hoosier Mama welcome to our first queen, Aida Lott!”

  The lights dimmed again, and the music started up with a song I recognized right away from Tío Billy’s pump-up playlist: “Sissy That Walk.” RuPaul! I thought with some relief. I know her, I love her. At least that might work in my favor.

  Upon hearing the music, Aida stepped out on stage. She wore a perfectly coiffed blonde wig and, with all her makeup and huge lashes, looked just like a Barbie doll. She wore a cherry red dress made of some kind of shiny material, and the tallest black stilettos I had ever seen.

  Aida looked amazing out there on the stage, strutting her stuff, but I was too anxious to enjoy her walk. And it was over in a flash; I blinked, and she was already headed offstage—to thunderous applause, of course. Could I ever be half that good? I thought, clapping with sweaty hands. Aida came into the wings and winked at me as she passed by.

  “You did great!” I whispered, as Dorie called out the next performer’s name.

  “Thank you, sweetheart!” Aida whispered back. She leaned down and gave me an air kiss, right next to my ear, so she wouldn’t mess up my makeup. “You’re going to kill it.”

  I didn’t even remember the next queen, I was so wrapped up in my nerves. All you have to do is walk. That’s it! Just walk. You’ve been doing it forever. Sure, the heels are new, but you’ve practiced. You’re good. You’re fine. But when I closed my eyes, I saw flashes of memory:

  Falling on my face in my tutu trying to reach Carmen.

  Running out of Mr. Peterson’s class, my chest tight.

  My little feet in a pair of big pumps, toddling over to Dad and his video camera—and tumbling over.

  “You can bet your bottom dollar she’ll give you a good show. She is . . . Anita Paycheck!”

  Oh my God. I’m next. Anita cartwheeled onto the stage from the wings, her foot nearly colliding with my chin as she launched herself forward. I yelped and jumped back as Aida Lott sidled up next to me.

  “That girl always does the absolute most,” she said, rolling her eyes. A wave of cheers and applause rose as Anita sashayed down to the edge of the stage. Aida squeezed my shoulder. “Go get ’em, sweets.”

  This was it. The moment I’d been waiting for. Martin McLean as Lottie León, live on stage. For the first time in my life, all eyes would be on me. No hiding, no fading into the background, no staying silent. If it all crashes and burns . . .

  I closed my eyes and smiled to myself. If it was all going to crash and burn, then at least, for one night, I was brave.

  As Anita began to flip-flop offstage, I heard the words I had been waiting months for the world to hear: “Next up, it’s . . . Lottie León!”

  This is it, I thought. This could be your only chance to impress everyone. Go!

  I was so focused on getting onstage that I didn’t realize Anita was headed straight for me as she walked into the wings, letting one foot drift into my path.

  I couldn’t react fast enough to stop. I tripped, falling hard onto my forearms, the blunt pain radiating up into my palms and knees.

  “Hey!” I cried out in surprise, but it barely seemed to faze Anita at all.

  “Watch it, kid,” she snarled, glaring down at me from on high. I moved my lips wordlessly, like a fish. She laughed at me, and it was an ugly, mean laugh. “No use lip-syncing back here, booger.”

  I didn’t know what she meant, but I could tell it was an insult. The awkward pause in the show was palpable—I had to get on stage! I struggled to get back up on my heels as Anita strode past without stopping. Aida Lott rushed over to help me up.

  “Ignore her,” she said. “She thinks she’s all that and a bucket of KFC. Just shake it off, baby girl. The audience didn’t see. Get out there!”

  I nodded, too flustered to reply. All I could do was straighten my wig, take a deep breath—

  And take my first steps into the light.

  Painfully bright, white light. I fought the urge to raise a hand to shield my eyes. I could barely make out any faces, just bobbing, shadowy silhouettes and flashes of smiles. I heard clapping, but it was muffled by the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears, deafening me: tha-RUMP tha-RUMP tha-RUMP.

  One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, I made my way down the stage toward the audience. My heels pounded the floor with a sharp CLICK-CLACK-CLACK, their silver glitter refracting light all around the room like a disco ball.

  RuPaul sang out over the sound system, and I thought, Yes, okay, I’m doing it! I reached the lip of the stage, placed one hand on my hip, and POP! I shifted my weight to one side, just like Tío Billy had taught me.

  The audience cheered, and I heard shouts of “Yaaas!” and “O-kay!” and “Work!” As I turned to make my way back up stage, Mom’s wordless hollering and Tío Billy calling out, “Yes, Miss Lottie!” cut through the noise. Emboldened by their cheers, I closed my eyes, turned my face up toward the hot stage lights and threw one arm in the air, feeling every inch like . . . well, like a queen.

  With a big, goofy grin on my face, I ducked back into the darkness of the wings, panting for breath.

  Aida Lott was waiting for me and scooped me up into a big hug the moment I was offstage. “Well, that was fierce!” she said, giving me a squeeze. “Congrats, little Lottie; you’re officially a drag queen! Welcome to the club.”

  You’re officially a drag queen. Her words rumbled again and again in my head like delicious thunder. Whoa. I am. I really am.

  “Come on!” I looked around for the familiar voice, and Tío Billy’s face appeared at the stage door, illuminated from behind. “We have to go!”

  I had been enjoying being Lottie so much, I had almost forgotten that the night wasn’t even close to over. I looked from Tío Billy to Aida.

  “Sorry,” I said to Aida, “I have to run. It was super nice meeting you!” And
I kicked off my heels, scooped them up, and dashed toward the door, my other hand keeping my wig in place as I ran.

  “León!” Tío Billy exclaimed as we rushed up the stairs to meet Mom. “You were just as fabulous as you were at home. Even better!”

  “Thanks!” I shouted over the sound of us bolting toward Hoosier Mama’s entrance. “I can’t believe I just did that!”

  “Start believing, león!” he cried as we burst through the front doors. Mom had the engine running, parked right out front. We sprinted for the car, flinging open the doors. “Gun it!” he hollered as we dove inside. Mom threw the car into drive and stepped on the gas, peeling away.

  “Baby, you were incredible!” she cried from behind the wheel.

  “Honestly, león, we’re going to run out of words to describe it,” Tío Billy said from the passenger seat. “I’d hug you but I don’t want to ruin your makeup!”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I panted. “It all has to come off anyway.” I reached behind me and unzipped my dress.

  “Come off?” Tío Billy asked. “It can’t come off! Not if you’re going to do another round.”

  “What?” I asked, reeling. “What are you talking about?”

  “There won’t be time to do your face all over again, león,” Tío Billy said, rummaging around his feet for my backpack. “This first round will last about a half an hour, then there’s an hour break, then the next round starts. We’ll be lucky if we can make it back in time, much less do your makeup.”

  “Are you serious? Look at me!” Tío Billy tossed me my uniform as I waved a hand over my face. “I can’t go to Mathletes like this!”

  “Why can’t he take it off? Is it really that big of a deal?” Mom reasoned, putting on her turn signal to merge into traffic. I wrangled the dress over my head with difficulty, struggling against its weight.

  “He could,” Tío Billy hedged, chewing his lip. “Pero queens . . . no hacen eso. It’s just not done. Everyone else will be pulling out all the stops.”

  “Well, who cares what everyone else is doing?” Mom scoffed.

  “I do!” I wailed. My heart had begun to race, my fingers trembling as I worked on the buttons of my white shirt. “I’ll get laughed off the stage if I’m not painted!”