by Tanya Boteju
“If anything, honey, you should be turning up the heat with her here.” She peered into my eyes. “Come on, would you really want her to walk out right now?”
Fair point. I was simultaneously anxious and spectacularly gleeful that she was here. I wanted to hide, but I also wanted to impress the hell out of her.
“Nima, you’re a hot little drag king, and she’d have to be an ice queen not to fall all over herself when she sees you.” Deidre turned to the mirror and added a dab of eyeliner to her own eyes. “Trust me, girl. I see the future, and she’s right behind you.” She found my eyes in the mirror and nodded slightly to her left. I looked past our reflections and saw Winnow standing behind us, just at the entrance to the backstage area. Our eyes located each other’s, and both my real and mirrored self just about cracked in two.
Deidre quickly packed the makeup into her case, patted me on the butt, and bustled out, placing her hand briefly on Winnow’s shoulder as they passed each other.
I was still staring at Winnow through the mirror, wondering if objects were really closer than they appeared, because it looked like Winnow was getting pretty close.
“Hey, Nima.”
Deep breath. “Hey, Winnow.” Saying her name out loud felt like some kind of radical act—like by just saying it, I could make the night go any way I wanted it to. I finally turned to face her.
“You look amazing,” she offered, reaching out to tug at one of my lapels.
I tried not to think about her fingers touching my clothing. “Thanks. It’s all Deidre.”
She did that head-tilt thing that knocked my heart over every time. “Not all.”
“Are you . . . here with anyone? Boyd? Devi?” I asked, still trying to find words.
“No, just me.” That silky hair. Those eyes. The lips.
“Oh.” Come on, Nima, you got this. “I’m kind of surprised you came.”
“Yeah? You thought I wouldn’t?” That half smile.
“I wasn’t sure. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t.”
“But I’m here.”
“You’re here.” Mouth. Move. Lungs. Breathe. “What made you come?”
She placed both hands on my lapels, hanging on this time. “What do you think?”
“Because . . . you missed Deidre?” I smiled.
A laugh. “Yeah. That too.” She dropped her hands but remained close. “And . . . because I don’t mind people making mistakes if they own up to them. I’ve made plenty myself.”
I hadn’t even realized it was there, but a final weight lifted from my heart as I listened to Winnow say those words, allowing me to say, “Well, it would be a mistake not to tell you . . . I’m really happy to see you. And . . . I’d love to see you more.”
“Yeah, I’d like that too.”
I think we both gulped. I know I did.
“You nervous?” she asked.
No sense pretending. I’d done enough of that already. “Absolutely. Any tips?”
She brushed an invisible piece of fluff off my shoulder. “Just do your thing, girl.” I watched her mouth spread into a smile.
Objects were definitely very close.
Unfortunately, I had to cut our reunion short when the emcee came backstage and said it was five minutes to showtime. Winnow—to my utter joy—gave me a soft, slow peck on the cheek, lingered long enough to whisper, “Good luck” in my ear, and disappeared out front.
The emcee had to snap his fingers in front of my face to get my attention again.
“All right, everyone—you ready?”
Was I?
Laugh at yourself. Laugh at others. Let them laugh at you. And dance, dance, dance like a goddamn fool.
Over and over I said Deidre’s mantra as I made my way onto the stage, took my position, and waited for the music to start. Over, and over, and over.
Standing with my back to the audience, I drew my sunglasses from the inner pocket of my jacket, slipped them over my ears, and let out a long, steady breath.
When the music started—all writhing, tempting groans and the scratchy shriek I could feel coming from the depths of my gut even though I was only lip-syncing it—I didn’t even have to think. My body responded to the plucks and grinds of the guitar, Prince’s creamy voice, and each whack of the drum like the music was somehow inside of me. Deidre’s choreography moved through me the way she’d intended—smooth, natural, simple but sensual.
I mouthed the words like they were my own and toyed with the audience like they were mine too. The stage didn’t hold me for long—by the time the second chorus poured from my mouth, I was sashaying past the couples leaning against the wall, pausing to give a few lucky souls a moment of my attention, brushing my hand across an arm or a cheek.
A hip bump with Deidre sent her laughter over the thumping music, and I made sure to lift my shades and throw a couple of winks to Gordon and Charles, enjoying their blushes.
Jill’s face appeared behind them—her jaw practically dropping to her chest, her eyes wide and blinking hard. I blew her a kiss. She shook her head and placed her hand over her heart.
As I rounded the mirrored side of the bar and caught my reflection, I mouthed the next few lyrics to myself: “Do your dance / Why should you wait any longer? / Take a chance / It could only make you stronger.”
The audience loved it—their hoots and whistles sizzled through my body and sent me to a whole new level of daring, just in time for my swagger to find Winnow, and just as the final, breathy words of the song repeated themselves—a plea and an order all at once.
I removed my glasses and let my eyes sink into hers. She watched me, a close-mouthed smile tugging at her lips. As I shimmied in closer, I placed a hand on her hip, exploring the possibilities of the moment. Her hand fell on top of mine. She mouthed, “Body part?” with a peaked eyebrow and sassy smile.
I looked at her lips. Her tongue appeared, wetting them. I let the lyrics fall away. I brought my mouth to hers.
The soft stick of cushiony lips. The honeyed taste of an unsurpassable moment.
We parted slowly, and our eyes opened into one another’s. “Right there,” I lip-synced, placing my finger on the smooth indentation between her collarbones and allowing a cheeky grin to follow.
When my fingertip touched her skin, Winnow’s lips fell into an easy, open laughter, and I could see the future too.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am humbled to live and work on lands belonging to the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh First Nations, and I acknowledge their stories and histories that existed long before my own.
So many people contributed to this book, but heartfelt and boisterous applause to my J-Team—my agent Jim McCarthy and editor Jennifer Ung (“Jeditor”). You two have been my hilarious, smart, and enthusiastic supporters throughout, and I feel blessed to have had you on my side. You got from the start what this book meant to me and what I hoped it would mean to others. It’s your commitment to diversity in literature (and love for dogs) that brought us together, I’m sure of it.
To the entire magnificent team at Simon Pulse—my experience has felt seamless, and I’m sure it’s due to the expertise and enthusiasm of each and every department, from editing to sales to marketing to publicity to production! Thank you also to Emily Hutton for pitching Kings for Indies Introduce. And special shout-outs to Sarah Creech and Marina Esmeraldo for their energetic cover illustration and design. You saw the hoped-for joy in the book and managed to put it into color and images!
To the funny and smart Eileen Cook, mentor extraordinaire—thank you for “un-sticking” me when I needed help, offering generously of your time and expertise, and continuing to support me way past the expiry date. And thank you to The Writer’s Studio at Simon Fraser University, which provided me with the inspiration, structure, and community to finish this book.
To my “adult” beta-readers (though “adult” might be pushing it)—Christy Dunsmore, Joanne Darrell Herbert, Heather van der Hoop, Ly Hoang, Zosia Dorcey,
Jessica Lemes da Silva, Cynthia Huijgens, and Jared Baird—thank you for your insights, suggestions, time, and support. You are everywhere in this book!
And again to Joanne, my Deidre in real life—a magical queen who’s there when I need her. Thank you for your excitement and love for this book and for me, my dear friend.
To my “young adult” beta-readers—Anaheed Saatchi (sorry, you’ll always be a young adult to me), Alannah Safnuk, Tammy Do, Elise Marchessault, and Emily He—I am so lucky to have taught such wise, thoughtful people. You blew me away with your perceptive, sensitive (and blunt) thoughts on the manuscript. The student definitely becomes the teacher!
To my English 11/12 class for helping me choose between “threw up,” “barf,” or “vomit.” Because: diction!
To the students I’ve been surrounded by and who I’ve had the pleasure of teaching at York House, thank you for continually reminding me how smart and funny, wise and powerful teenagers are. You’ve taught me more than I’ve taught you, I’m sure, and I couldn’t have written this book without these past sixteen years.
To all my educator peeps who understand how important it is to challenge outdated norms and to continually learn so we don’t become those outdated norms—thank you for the work you do. I’m inspired every day by your commitment to young people and to our diverse communities.
To Cafe Deux Soleils and its staff, I wrote most of this book in your booths, eating your food, and drinking your beer. Thanks for remaining Wi-Fi-free. And for staying more Commercial Drive and less . . . those other places.
To the Screaming Weenies, the Brown Brother Posse, and all the other drag folks who made my twenties wild and magical. This book wouldn’t exist without you or any of the other kings, queens, and in-betweens who inspire, entertain, and challenge through their art.
To my family—Amma, Thatha, Karen, and Charmaine—for supporting me through this whole process and for your enthusiasm, even though you didn’t know what the heck I was writing about. My work ethic grew from this family, and it got this book written!
To so many friends and relatives who have put up with my incessant online posts about this overwhelming and exciting process, who have asked and prodded and applauded and supported—your encouragement has meant the world to me, whether you know it or not.
To you, the readers, for reading books! Keep doing it.
To my Jennifer: you have been my biggest cheerleader—allowing me to read out loud to her and maybe even enjoying it, making me personalized “books” swag, cooking me good food when I just needed to write . . . but most of all for understanding my need to “go into the zone,” even though it sometimes means less time for us. You live Deidre’s mantra, never afraid to laugh out loud or dance like a fool. Your full, open heart inspires me all the time.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tanya Boteju is an English teacher and writer living on unceded territories of the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh First Nations (Vancouver, Canada). She believes feminism, committed educators, sassy students, and hot mugs of tea will save the day. She is also grateful for her patient wife, who builds her many bookshelves while also encouraging her to be social. Tanya may have been a drag king in her well-spent youth and knows that the queer community is full of magic and wonder. With this book, she hopes she’s brought some of that magic to those who need it most.
Visit us at simonandschuster.com/teen
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Tanya-Boteju
Simon Pulse
Simon & Schuster, New York
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
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First Simon Pulse hardcover edition May 2019
Text copyright © 2019 by Tanya Boteju
Jacket illustration copyright © 2019 by Marina Esmeraldo
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Jacket designed by Sarah Creech
Interior designed by Tom Daly
Author photograph by Jennifer Ivings
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Boteju, Tanya, author.
Title: Kings, queens, and in-betweens / Tanya Boteju.
Description: First Simon Pulse hardcover edition. | New York : Simon Pulse, 2019. |
Summary: After a bewildering encounter at her small town’s annual summer festival, seventeen-year-old biracial, queer Nima plunges into the world of drag, where she has the chance to explore questions of identity, acceptance, self-expression, and love.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018031034 | ISBN 9781534430655 (hardcover)
Subjects: | CYAC: Male impersonators—Fiction. | Lesbians—Fiction. | Self-acceptance—Fiction. | Racially mixed people—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.B6755 Ki 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018031034
ISBN 9781534430679 (eBook)
