Clem’s mouth is already full of rhubarb and pie crust. “Oh, God, yeah. That’s the good stuff.”
“One slice,” I say.
Clem reaches for the pie server. “That was the appetizer slice. This is my real slice.”
“And then home,” I tell her.
She winks. “Sure thing, Pumpkin.”
Three
We make it home a few minutes before the marathon begins, and even though Clem knows I’m annoyed that our detour took longer than expected, she doesn’t acknowledge it. She and Hannah disappear for chunks of time every once in a while, which definitely translates to making out in Clementine’s room before Mom and Dad get home. Dad’s got an overnight job, so he won’t be home until morning, and Mom, who does all of his admin stuff, is probably helping him make sure he’s got his crew and equipment all lined up.
After a quick bathroom break, I pound on Clementine’s closed door. “Clem! Mom’s home!”
I have to hold in my laughter as I listen to the two of them curse and tumble over each other. Clem races to the door and swings it open, straightening her T-shirt.
“JK,” I say.
Clem shoves me gently. “What the hell, Waylon?”
“Not cool,” Hannah says from where she sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing her bangs back down.
I roll my eyes. “Think of it like a fire drill.”
After the three of us heat up frozen taquitos for dinner, Mimi, my favorite queen, sits for her episode-five interview after nearly being kicked off the show.
This was the first challenge that didn’t rely on Mimi’s strengths (design/sewing and comedy) and instead was dependent on her dance skills. “Listen,” says Mimi in masculine street clothes. “I got into drag to play to my strengths. Design and comedy? Those are my currencies. People will forgive you for just about anything—including being fat—if you can make them laugh. But dancing—something plenty of fat people are great at, by the way—well, when you see me fumbling around on that stage, it reminds you that I’m fat and that’s a sin America won’t forgive me for unless I can make a pretty dress or tell a clever joke. During the dance number I was no worse than Sasha or Belle. My runway was fierce. Definitely better than either of theirs. So you tell me why I was up for elimination and they weren’t.”
Even though I’ve seen this particular moment countless times, thanks to reruns and fan recaps, it still hits me right in the gut. There are times when I feel like I can’t be me. I can’t simply exist. I have to offer something in exchange. Something that absolves me of being fat and gay and even worse—both of those things at once.
I know it sounds dramatic. Especially since my family seems very okay with me and Clem. But I can’t help but think it’d be easier to love me if I was at least thin like my sister or ripped like Tucker. That might make up the deficit somehow.
“Are you okay?” Hannah asks in a low voice while Clementine is in the kitchen heating up some queso.
I open my mouth to talk and then realize a few slow tears are rolling down my cheek. “Oh, yeah. Me? I’m good. I’m fine.”
Hannah eyes me suspiciously. “When Bianca Blanco won a couple years ago, I got that tingly feeling behind my eyes. I kind of still do.”
Hannah is Afro-Dominican, and Bianca was a Dominican queen who spoke a mixture of Spanish and English and had a signature phrase that caught on all over the internet. Two years ago, she was the first Dominican queen to win ever after a couple of near misses during previous seasons, and she became infamous for her catchphrase, Don’t you wishy you could be this fishy?
According to Clem, Hannah’s grandma got so into the show that season that she made a Dominican feast for the season finale and invited all their neighbors.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Lucas: I’m working until 1am if you want to swing by.
My cold, dead heart flutters as I type back.
We’ll see. Dad is working all night, so maybe.
Lucas: Really want to see you. Maybe we can talk too.
Talk? Ha! Lucas. Oh, Lucas. Lucas is my highly problematic and slightly older (literally by a few months) booty call. Is it still a booty call if you’ve never gone all the way? I guess he’s more like my Very Handsy Make-Out/Sometimes More Call.
I would say it’s complicated, but it’s not. What it is: two horny boys who like to make out in the stockroom of a gas station. We met last summer when I got a flat tire down the road and he let me hang out inside the gas station where he works until Dad could bring me a spare. We ate ice cream and flirted. I wasn’t sure if he was gay, but I found myself stopping at the gas station for Mr. Freezee’s soft serve ice cream every afternoon until Lucas made the first move, and we’ve been making out in the back room ever since. Lucas is charming and polite in that perfectly southern way, and if I’m being honest, he’s everything I dreamed of when I was a little boy and imagined someone sweeping me off my feet. But even though he is all of those things, he can’t be any of those things for me.
Maybe it would be more complicated if Lucas was interested in kissing me and holding my hand in well-lit places, but he isn’t ready for that. Lucas is very much in the closet, and he’s the kind of guy no one in Clover City assumes is gay. Yeah, it’s not easy for guys like me who are sort of like every nineties stereotype of gay, despite my efforts to be more subdued. But guys like Lucas can really throw people off, because if big, strapping Lucas, who is a total Clover City golden boy in his beat-up Wranglers and muscle shirt, can be gay without anyone suspecting it, then—GASP—anyone can be queer.
And even though I sometimes wonder if the reason Lucas and I aren’t publicly out together is because he’s embarrassed of me, I know that Lucas being out is a decision only he can make. Regardless of where I stand in the equation. Once you come out of the closet, there’s no going back in. The freaking closet door disappears, and you’re left totally unprotected in the middle of the world at the mercy of everyone else’s goodwill, hoping the people you’ve known your whole life really are decent and kind and that all that unconditional-love Bible stuff people spew is the real deal. That’s what coming out in a small town is. I would never jeopardize that for someone else. Never.
Small-town gay life doesn’t have to be a drag. It can be great in some ways, and it helps that I’ve not done anything like try to star in the school’s production of Oklahoma! Clem and I have been lucky, especially with our parents, but I’ve heard whispers about other kids in town. Everything from getting kicked out of their homes to being sent to Bible Bootcamp. (A real place with actual Yelp reviews, by the way. Five stars! Would send my once-homosexual kid back again!) Clem and I might have made it through life so far without any major bumps or bruises, but I know that we’re both just one unfortunate moment away from someone seeing us do something like hold hands with someone or even a moment of us “acting gay” before one of us is in actual danger.
As the commercials begin after last week’s episode, I stand up. “Okay, last call for bathroom breaks! This finale is live with zero commercials. Look alive, people!”
Clementine races to the bathroom.
“I’ll take my chances,” says Hannah.