by Jeffery Self
“We get it.” I turned up the radio, hoping to drown out both Heather and Seth, but Heather lowered the volume again.
“You can talk to us, JT,” Seth pushed on. “We’re your friends. Keeping things bottled up all the time sucks. Believe me, I know.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Nothing. Never mind,” Seth said after an uncomfortable beat of silence.
“Hot dogs!” Heather shouted as she jerked the car into the parking lot of Hal’s, the hot dog stand that had been on the side of the highway for as long as I could remember. It was one of those places that looked really cool without knowing it. Tacky Christmas lights hung between palm trees over a patch of weathered old picnic tables, a huge grill, a little yellow shack, and the omnipresent aroma of hot dogs. The place was always crowded because one of those TV shows about food said Hal’s served the best hot dog in Florida, and they were right.
We ordered at the counter. All of the hot dogs were named after famous people from Florida. As much as I hate to admit it, I ordered the Brittany Snow. What can I say? I like coleslaw.
We made our way over to a table in the corner, across from a cluster of cute guys. They went to our school but were the kind of popular kids whose names I never could have learned even if I’d tried. The kind of kids who probably had been there laughing at me during the school talent show.
“Those guys go to our school, don’t they?” Seth said between bites of his Gloria Estefan Dog. “Heather, don’t you know the one in the blue?”
Heather looked over her shoulder at the very cute boy in a blue T-shirt across the way. “Yeah. Patrick Eberhart. He lives down the street from me. I used to swim in his pool when we were little kids.”
“Go talk to him.” Seth nudged her with his elbow. “He’s really cute and he keeps looking over at you.”
“I haven’t talked to him in forever. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”
“You grew up down the street from him. It’s not like that was fifty years ago. Of course he remembers you. Don’t you think he’s cute?”
Heather looked over her shoulder again.
“Yeah.”
“Well then. GO!” Seth tossed one of his fries at her, which landed in her frizzy hair.
“Right. The weirdest and fattest girl in school goes to talk to one of the popular guys at her favorite hot dog stand. That’s a movie I do NOT want to see. Much less be a part of.”
“Do it! I demand it! And it’s my birthday next month.” Seth never took no for an answer.
“Oh sure, because that makes sense.”
“No, Heather. You owe it to yourself. Be bold. Be brave. It’s like I’m always telling JT. Ditch the whole self-hating BS and just live.”
“Seth, leave her alone. If she doesn’t want—” I tried to protest, but he wasn’t giving up that easy.
“Heather, you’re beautiful. The world is full of different kinds of beauty. Sure, you don’t look like those cookie-cutter popular girls, but who cares? You look like you, and that’s better than being a cookie cutter.”
Heather was quiet for a moment, a rare phenomenon. Sometimes it seemed like she was afraid of silence. Heather always dominated the conversation, no matter who she was talking to. I think that was one of the reasons I loved her, because I never had to worry about saying something interesting.
The boy in the blue shirt must have noticed us looking at him. Everyone at his table was very aware of us, which was the last thing I wanted.
“Heather,” I said, “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Let’s just go—”
“You know what? He’s right,” Heather said, smoothing her frizzy hair and adjusting her oversize sweater. “What do I have to lose? How do I look?”
The truth was that Heather looked bizarre against the backdrop of Clearwater, no matter where she went. Walking down the street in a big city, Heather would have made perfect sense, maybe even looked fashion-forward and hip. But to people in Clearwater she looked like a wacky bag lady with a penchant for doughnuts.
“Beautiful,” Seth said.
Before I could respond, Heather was marching over to the picnic table of popular guys. Seth watched her go, then turned back to me. “You should encourage her more.”
“Huh?”
“You always let her stand back, the way you do. She should step out on her own and shine.”
“What does that even mean?”
“You both need a dose of confidence. You let her doubt herself. And she lets you. I see it. It’s like the drag pageant scholarship—”
I gave him a look that said Shut up or I will kill you. He pretended not to notice.
“I just don’t want you to be stuck here. I know that you don’t either. It kills me to imagine me and Heather getting to graduate and go off to begin our lives while you have to stay in Clearwater to fend for yourself.”
It was the first time I’d ever heard Seth talk about his future without me, and the first time I felt what it did to my heart. I’d always fantasized that Seth, Heather, and I would move off to New York together, get a dumpy yet charming apartment, work at bad jobs we’d love to complain about, and use that as a home base to seek out our dreams.
“Well, you don’t know where you’ll go,” I pointed out. “The other day you said you were still considering going to Florida State. Maybe if I don’t get a scholarship, I can apply for financial aid and get in-state tuition or something. Right?”
Seth looked at me blankly. Carefully, he said, “I thought you knew I had changed my mind. I can’t just turn down offers from places like Ithaca or Emerson.”
“So you’re definitely going to leave Florida after graduation?”
“I don’t think this is the right time or place to have this conversation. All I’m saying is that Heather, like you, needs to be more confident, and you should be encouraging her, while you encourage yourself.”
Seth might have seemed like just another pretty, charming boy with perfectly wavy hair, but he was really smart. And as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. If I couldn’t be confident in myself, how could I help my best friend be confident in herself? But Heather was already headed back over to us, with her head planted firmly down.
“Let’s go,” she said stiffly, grabbing her purse.
“How did it—”
She snapped back at Seth, “Let’s just go! Okay?”
We drove back to the drone of today’s latest pop songs whispering quietly on the radio.
“So,” I tentatively offered.
Heather kept staring at the passing darkness along the road.
“So?” she repeated back to me, with a hefty dose of attitude that eventually managed to say, I know you want to talk about what just happened but I’m not going to so if you’re going to insist on trying to get me to talk then I’m going to be forced to murder you.
Needless to say, I shut up.
We dropped Seth at his house and I kissed him good-night. It felt like one of those distracted kisses where both of you are in completely different headspaces but kissing because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re boyfriends saying good-bye to each other. He knew I wanted to talk more about his future and mine; he knew how insecure I was about him going off to college and our attempting to have some sort of long-distance relationship. I was giving myself a migraine.
Heather drove me across town to my neighborhood. A far cry from the picturesque cul-de-sac Seth called home. As she pulled up to the apartment building, we were both quiet. I could see the sadness in her eyes and she could see the worry in mine.
“Will you please just tell me whether or not you’re okay?” I asked, finally.
It was dark inside the car, but I could tell she wasn’t smiling.
“I’m fine.”
Normally, I would have stopped here. But maybe Seth was right. Maybe I needed to be a better friend, and part of that meant pushing a little harder. So instead of letting it go, I said, “You
sure? You don’t look any definition of fine that I’m familiar with.”
Heather sighed. “That guy I grew up with? Patrick from the hot dog stand? Yeah, he wasn’t trying to flirt with me. When I got over there, he and his friends told me they should’ve asked me to order for them, because I looked like the place’s best customer.”
“WHAT?! Those assholes. You know that you’re—”
“Stop.”
Heather was flustered and attempting to hide how truly upset she was. She sighed again, and this time the sigh seemed to contain the entire state of Florida.
“We’re gonna get out of here someday, right? And get somewhere where we fit in? Right?”
I fell silent because I really wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to lie to her. Maybe I wouldn’t pass that scholarship test; maybe I wouldn’t get my ticket to my otherwise; maybe I’d be stuck in Florida, without Seth, without Heather.
“Seth’s definitely going somewhere out of state,” I said.
“Are you sure?” From the look on her face, I could tell she wasn’t fronting—he hadn’t told her, either.
“Yeah. He told me so, at Hal’s.”
Heather squeezed my shoulder. “You will too—”
“But what if he goes somewhere for smart, fancy people? What then?”
Heather shrugged. “Then you’ll go somewhere for interesting, messy people.” She cracked a smile, then added, “Without Seth.”
I didn’t want to hear this. “Stop. Sorry I brought this up at all.”
She grabbed my knee. “Remember, he’s your first boyfriend, JT. We’re both seventeen.”
“So?”
“So … does anybody actually end up with their first boyfriend?”
I had never thought about this before and I suddenly felt scared. Pit-of-the-stomach scared.
Heather saw what she’d done and tried to backpedal. “Hey, sorry. Don’t let that upset you. I was just trying to put things in perspective. Forget I said anything. Okay?”
I nodded, though I knew how my brain worked. If there was something to worry about, I would worry about it until I was physically incapable of worrying anymore. The best I could do right now was attempt to change the subject. Instead of thinking about Seth, I’d focus on me and Heather.
“Let’s make a pact,” I said. “You and me. No matter what happens, we’ll get out of here someday. Go far away from Florida. We’ll find a place where we aren’t the freaks, but just the people.”
I imagined this as I said it. I imagined us in some big city where everybody was just as weird as us, if not weirder.
“Someday soon.”
“Yes,” I promised, as much to myself as to her. “Someday soon.”
“AND WITHOUT FURTHER ADO …”
Principal Kelly’s voice sounded like Darth Vader through the school’s crappy intercom system.
“The three scholarship winners are …”
My heart was pounding so hard I worried it might pound right out of my chest and onto the floor of the science lab.
“Reese Firstman.”
Okay, that wasn’t a surprise. Reese was one of those people who only had bad grades because she was too smart to actually care about high school. She probably hadn’t even studied for the scholarship exam.
“James Hansen.”
Okay, one left.
Please say my name. Please say my name.
“And …”
My throat tightened.
“Mary Soria.”
The pounding suddenly stopped. I began to feel that salty weight that says, You’re gonna cry and you can either do it where you are, in this case a high school science lab, or get to the bathroom as fast as you freaking can, bitch. I didn’t even raise my hand. I just slipped out the back and bounded my way to the boys’ room. As soon as the door swung shut behind me, tears poured out. So did the heavy breathing I get when I’m overwhelmed with how bad I feel.
No scholarships, no college. The story was over.
I was officially stuck in Clearwater.
The bathroom door burst open and Heather barreled in.
“I came as fast as I could!” She pulled me into her soft chest. What Heather lacked in confidence she made up for in boob size.
“You can’t be in here, Heather.” My voice was muffled so far into her cleavage it almost echoed.
“Look at me.” She pulled me away and stared into my eyes. “Screw them. Screw that scholarship.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who just had his last shot taken away.”
“It can’t possibly be your last shot. There are billions of scholarships out there.”
“I’ve tried, Heather. I’ve Googled into the depths of the Internet. I can’t afford any more application fees. I have no skills.”
Heather smacked me on the cheek.
“Don’t you ever say that again. You’re a wonderful person! A wonderful singer! A wonderful writer. A gorgeously talented writer. You just happen to have insanely bad grades.”
“Thanks.”
“Like really bad. Like how did they get so bad to begin with? How do you let yourself go like that—”
“Okay. I get it.”
Heather began pacing, the wheels of her brain spinning, as Seth rushed in.
“Sorry it took me so long,” he said. “My teacher wouldn’t let me leave until he finished telling us why the world will probably be destroyed by the time we’re fifty. How are you?”
“It didn’t take fifty years for my world to be destroyed—only seventeen.”
Instead of trying to persuade me otherwise—it wouldn’t have worked—Seth pulled me in and kissed my lips. He was wearing Dr Pepper ChapStick. It helped me smile.
“What are you doing in the guys’ bathroom?” Seth asked Heather.
She snorted. “Please. Save it. I’m more of a man than most of the guys at this school.”
Seth nodded understandingly. She had a point.
“Okay,” she said with some urgency. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to spend tonight researching scholarships.”
“But I told you, I’ve already—”
Heather cut me off, relentless. “What about scholarships that play the gay card? Can’t you just write to that guy who played Spock in the new Star Trek movies, and see if he’ll pay for you to go to college? Or Ellen? She’s always giving gay people money on her show.”
Something twinkled in Seth’s eyes. “Well. I found something … but JT won’t even consider it.” As he said this, he casually played with a strand of his perfect hair. Irresistible jerk.
“Does he have to pretend to be Chinese? I already looked into that one, and he is NOT conversant in the Mandarin language.”
“No,” I said, “his idea is completely absurd and complicated.”
“It’s a drag pageant!” Seth exclaimed. “It basically works like a beauty pageant for teenage drag queens and the winner gets a full scholarship!” Seth was doing his best sales pitch and Heather was hanging on his every word.
“What? JT!” she exclaimed. “That sounds perfect! You love drag queens!”
“That doesn’t mean I can be one myself. I love old Jessica Lange movies too but that doesn’t mean I have any right to be in one!”
Heather ignored me and plowed on. “Is this about what happened last time? That was a dumb school talent show. Of course they didn’t get you—”
Now it was my turn to interrupt with a reality check. “They didn’t just not get me. They booed and laughed at me!”
“Okay, fine. You were a teenage boy performing at his high school in drag—what did you expect? This is different. This is where we aren’t the freaks. Where is it located?”
“New York!” Seth squealed with excitement. “We’ve GOT to go!”
They were drinking the Kool-Aid of this idea way too fast—and it wasn’t kool, and it didn’t particularly aid me. “You guys, come on!” I protested. “We can’t just up and run off to New York for s
ome pageant. Who do you think we are?”
Heather passionately pulled me toward her so we were face-to-face.
“Fine,” she said. “It’s the last thing you want to do again … but who cares? You need a scholarship and they have one to give. You can’t give up on something you were so excited about just because it went poorly the first time.”
It went poorly. That was one way of putting it. Another way would have been: Everyone watching literally LAUGHED AT ME, BOOED, SHOUTED INSULTS. They were all so mean, so vicious, so cruel. It was like the final scene in Carrie but without pig’s blood and with way more eyeliner.
I couldn’t put myself through that again.
“You guys. I don’t think—”
Seth placed his soft hand on my shoulder. “It’s a full scholarship. All four years. A full ride, JT.”
Seth’s eyes weren’t just sparkling now; they were drilling into me. Did he see something I didn’t? Was he right? If I tried again, could there be even a tiny chance I could actually do it? Did he actually think I could—
The door flew open and Mr. Garcia bounded in.
“Young lady, you have no business in here. All of you, back to class. Right now. GO!”
As we parted ways outside the bathroom door, Seth looked over his shoulder at me and smiled. Heather grabbed my hand, and as she squeezed it, she whispered, “Think about it, JT. I believe in you.”
ONCE IT WAS IN THERE, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head.
Was I actually considering doing it again? After my one drag experience, I’d vowed I’d never do it again, but could I muster up the audacity to change my own mind? Could I ignore the horrible memories? If my life were a musical, this particular moment would’ve made a really good character-driven ballad about hope and fear that would come back as a reprise in the second act to mean something entirely different. The kind of show tune people would sing, most frequently off-key, in auditions.
Also there was the matter of originality and pride. I was far from original, and the last time I’d actually felt proud was when I first saw myself fully in drag. Before the competition, before the humiliation; I felt wonderful, but not for long. And the last time I remembered feeling proud before that was when I went to a sleepover in fourth grade and didn’t wet the bed.
