“Ah,” she says, her voice melodic. “Waylon, my dear, thank you for keeping my seat warm.”
She gives me a soft pat on the back, and something about the way she talks and moves and touches me makes me want to scream PLEASE BE MY MOM! Even though I have a perfectly fine mom. A great mom, in fact! But instead of any of that, I clear my throat and scoot out of her seat.
I’ve never actually told Ms. Jennings how awesome I think she is, because what’s the fun in truly sharing your feelings with adult humans? And maybe the thought of graduating and not seeing her every day makes my throat clam up in a gross way. Anyway. Moving on.
I take my place on the last row with Kyle, the other baritone. Except I’m not just a baritone. I’m a tenor too, but Kyle doesn’t have the range and his baritone is too weak to carry. So one day, back during sophomore year, Ms. Jennings discreetly pulled me aside after class and asked if I wouldn’t mind spreading my talents to the baritone section, since we lost a few seniors. I, very smugly, have treasured that day for the last two years of my life.
“So,” he says while Ms. Jennings takes attendance. “Did you send your video in?”
I scoff. “Uh, no. Really, it was a joke.”
With all the fake sincerity in the world, Kyle touches my arm. “Waylon, you could really make it. Can you imagine? A kid from Clover City on one of the biggest drag shows in the world?”
“I’m not a drag queen,” I tell him. “That show is for, like, professionals. I was annoyed by who won and wanted to make my own little video. I was messing around.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he says. “You know what I think? I think you’re really brave for putting yourself out there like that. You know, I used to be . . . bigger too, and it’s not easy for people like us.”
“Um, okay.”
Ah, yes. How could I forget? During the summer between eighth grade and freshman year, Kyle lost seventy pounds working out day in and day out at Motion, the circuit gym for middle-aged women . . . and Kyle, apparently. He was such a success that the owner of Motion bought a billboard to display his before-and-after pictures. Most kids would have been mortified, but stupid, genuine Kyle treated it like a victory lap and used it as his platform to win student body vice president for three years in a row now.
“Just think about it,” he tells me earnestly. “Have a little faith in yourself, because I sure do.”
Alex turns around and squeezes Kyle’s hand briefly as Ms. Jennings calls for our attention.
We get it! You’re both very happy!
We cycle through warm-ups and our graduation performance songs, and right before the bell rings, Kyle raises his hand beside me. “Um, yes, Ms. Jennings, could I make an announcement?”
She gives him an indulgent smile and nods.
“I want to remind everyone that we have a Prism meeting here in this room after school. I’ve signed up the club to help with prom decorations this year, so we’ll talk about our plan of attack and also, a reminder that prom court nominations close later this week.”
“Thank you, Kyle,” says Ms. Jennings. She holds a finger up, and right on cue, the bell rings. “Class dismissed.”
The single greatest joy of my senior year is off-campus lunch, which is why my foot is on the pedal, hauling to Harpy’s with Clem and Hannah in tow. I’d hoped that maybe Hannah would ditch and now would be the time to talk to Clem about her big plans, but I’m not about to have Serious Sibling Discourse with a third party in the mix.
Harpy’s is a Clover City staple and also the location of many of mine and Clem’s childhood birthday parties. It’s not even particularly good (honestly, their secret sauce is just mustard), but I still feel a fierce loyalty to their curly fries and will always choose this place over whatever new chain has set up shop.
Lydia, longtime Harpy’s employee and the grumpiest woman alive, sits perched on a stool behind the cash register.
“Hello, sunshine,” I say.
“Number three extra pickles hold the onion?” she asks without looking up.
“Music to my ears,” I tell her.
And I swear her lips twitch into an almost smile.
I pay and then Hannah and Clem place their order, which has turned out to be an intricate feast of sides they like to share since Clem convinced Hannah to become a vegetarian. I score the highly coveted circle booth in the far corner of the restaurant as Lydia slowly evaporates.
Hannah waits for our food while Clem gets our drinks from the soda fountains. When they finally both sit down, I let out a long-held groan.
“I’m going to kill you,” I tell Clem, half joking and half serious.
“What’d she do this time?” asks Hannah as she chomps down on an onion ring.
“Oh, she knows.”
My sweet golden-retriever sister shrugs.
“Tell her,” I say. “Tell Hannah what you did.”
She side-eyes me and turns to Hannah. “I . . . uh . . . the video I showed you—”
“Oh, so she’s seen the video now too.” Of course Clem showed that video to every living being she came into contact with. “I’m so glad I could provide entertainment for you and your friends.”
“It was good!” Clem says. “We share a cloud! It was there! And besides, when Kyle saw it, I was already watching it on my phone. It’s not like I went out of my way to show him.”
My nostrils flare and I shake my head. “Whatever.” I can’t get over this betrayal, and the fact that it’s not more of a big deal ratchets my anger up a whole notch.
Clem clears her throat. “So, either of you want to go to the Prism meeting with me after school?”
Hannah and I both groan in unison.
“I have a thing,” Hannah says as she pushes up her sleeves to reach over the onion rings for the cheesy tots.
“Oh, come on!” Clem says. My sister isn’t bothered by large groups or strangers or organized activities that might make her look dumb. But she’s usually pretty good about not expecting the same of me. Groups and gatherings make me feel emotionally claustrophobic. I was a little freaked out when she started dating Hannah over the summer, like suddenly they would be so social together, and I would either be stuck home alone or left being their third wheel at a party. But luckily, Hannah’s tolerance for socializing is even lower than mine.
“Babe,” says Hannah as she checks a text on her phone. “You know organized groups aren’t really my thing.”
I shake my head. “And you know I’m just a bad gay.”
“There’s no wrong way to be gay,” Clem righteously declares.
“Well, then file me under Hannah’s reason,” I tell her, my mouth stuffed with fries just as Kyle and Alex walk in followed by Tucker and a few of his friends, who all skip the long line by scooting in with some cheerleaders to place their orders. I slither down in the bench as much as I can, hoping that I can hide from all three of them.
“Besides,” Hannah says. “I really do have a thing. My ’lita texted a second ago to say she needs me to help her pick up patio chairs she bought from someone on Facebook.”
Clem turns to her. “Grandma Camile has a Facebook?”
Hannah sighs. “She got a hand-me-down iPhone from my cousin Paul last month and now she can’t be stopped. He just dropped off the phone and left me with her. Do you know how long it took me to explain Face ID to her? Now that she knows how to use it, though, she’s everywhere. She even started her own Facebook group called DRC of CC Y’ALL, for other Dominicans in Clover City. She has exactly nine members, and five of them are moderators. She even wrote down the name of her group for her cashier at the grocery store the other day. When the cashier explained that she was Puerto Rican, ’Lita told her she could be an honorary Dominican.”