Page 17

Amos

“Of course I like football, Dad. That’s why I’ve been playing it for six years.”

“Then why do you need to dress like a woman?”

he asked, sneering.

“Because I also like to perform. Why is this an issue?”

My dad shook his head and walked out of the living room into our kitchen.

Mom was sitting across from me with a stunned look while my brother laughed his fool head off.

I stood up to leave when Dad came back in. “You know we don’t have a problem with you or your brother being gay, but dressing like a woman? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, Dad, I haven’t figured out if I’m gay or bi, or whatever. I haven’t even had sex yet, so that isn’t really the issue. I won a freaking competition, and I get to move on to the next level. I just thought y’all might like to see me perform.”

The room was silent. Even my asshole brother had stopped laughing. “Okay, I get it. You support me playing sports, but you don’t support anything you consider too girly, right?”

I went to my room and fell into bed, amused despite the depressing conversation. I was a linebacker, 230 pounds, and because I worked out three freaking hours, six days a week, my body was mostly muscle—all except my tummy. I ate too many donuts, fries, and pizza to have a six-pack.

I knew I was no beauty queen, but I could sing, dance, and act. Put those together, and I made a pretty damned good drag queen.

I also made a damned good football player, even if I said so myself. I’d been given a full scholarship to college. Everyone thought I was nuts when I went into performing arts as a major, but I loved acting.

Besides, acting was a lot like playing football. I was taught early to listen to the coach… well, most of the time. When I didn’t listen to the coach, or in this case, director, I knew I damned well better know what I was doing, because if I failed, there would be hell to pay.

So, although I wasn’t as good an actor as a football player, I was good enough to get decent grades.

My brother came into my room, pissing me off since he ignored my rule about knocking, like he always did.

“Hey, don’t be upset. Hell, even I thought you were joking. You know you aren’t the most feminine, right?”

I shook my head. “Seriously, dude, leave it alone. You all made it clear how you feel.”

He laughed. “You know I’m the skinny one with no sports skills. If one of us was going to be a drag queen, it should be me.”

I looked at him and smiled. “Wanna do drag with me?”

He laughed out loud. “I seriously don’t, but I do wanna come see you compete. But, brother, I won’t promise not to laugh my ass off.”

I flipped him the bird, then rolled over and faced the wall.

He sighed. “Give them a minute, okay?”

I knew he was referring to our parents. “It took them a moment when I told them I was gay. You know Dad’s a jock from the nineties, and his parents aren’t open-minded at all. Grandpa still barely talks to him for marrying a white woman, much less how he feels about our parents joining PFLAG. Just give them a minute. They’ll come around.”

When I didn’t respond, he came over and lightly hit my arm. “You know I love you, Amos, no matter how nuts you are, right?”

I flipped him off again but muttered that I loved him, too, before he left my room.

He was right. Mom and Dad had been more than supportive since Josiah had come out. He was a year and a half younger than me but always braver. So, when the parents accepted him, I told them I was bi, although I was still confused about that. I’d gone out with men and women but hadn’t liked anyone enough to go all the way. So, I’d pretty much decided I wasn’t sure either way.

The guys on the team gave me shit all the time about being a virgin, but after playing ball since middle school, I’d learned to tune their teasing out. They were always teasing someone about something.

I did the second show on my own. Tommy and Owen came to see me perform, which helped me feel less bad about my parents not showing. The bar was twenty-one or over, so Josiah couldn’t get in, and truth be told, I didn’t want him there anyway. After my parents’ reaction, I thought it’d throw me off my game. And damn, I wanted to win.

I’d gone online and found an outfit that would work with my big frame and my tight college student budget. Unfortunately, when the shoes arrived, they were way higher than I’d imagined they’d be: freaking stilts.

I’d lip-synced in the first competition but had decided to use my voice this time. I was a tenor, but no one would mistake me for a woman. At least I could hit the high notes easily enough without sounding like Harvey Fierstein in Birdcage.

The second the music started, I clopped ungracefully across the stage, thanks to the hateful shoes.

I’ve always been able to do impressions. My parents used to have me perform for their party guests when I was little, and since Adele was one of my all-time favorite artists in high school, I knew her every inflection and could pretty much mimic her exact movements.

The moment I got to the microphone, I leaned in and began to sing in my perfect Adele way.

The crowd hushed immediately, which shocked me. None of the other queens had commanded an audience, so taking that as a good sign, I continued. When I got to the chorus, I kicked the stilettos off in a typical Adele move, causing the audience to whistle and call out, “Go girl!”

As I built up to the emotional ending, I spotted Tommy, and the look he was giving me inspired me to end the song with an intensity I didn’t know I had in me.

As the song ended, the audience was on their feet. I knew I’d made an impression, and remembering my role as a queen, I turned so my ass was in the air. Acting as flirty as possible, I bent down to pick up the hateful stilettos, turned to the audience with my hand over my mouth in pretend shock, and then pranced offstage.

“You’ve got this in the bag,”

Tommy whispered after I got to where they were seated. It felt good to sing again… to be back in my element.

“Thanks buddy,”

I said and bumped my shoulder against his.

The next act pretty much ended our celebration though. A diva with a humongous blond wig, long luxurious legs, and a body to die for stood up and did “You Better Work”

by RuPaul.

“No way that bitch is an amateur,”

Owen said behind me, garnering support from the other queens around us.

What she lacked in skill, going flat several times, she made up for in spirit as she pranced across the stage exactly as the diva on RuPaul’s Drag Race would have.

When the judging was over, the RuPaul look-alike and I were tied.

The MC pulled us both back on stage to ask us questions. Luckily, I’d downed several shots, so I was more than a little buzzed and could garner a few laughs with my answers to the ridiculous questions we were asked.

“Fashion question,”

the MC said and looked between me and my competitor. “You’re preparing for a gala, the hostess has announced the theme will be in the pink, what do you wear?”

Fortunately, the queen next to me said some joke that was supposed to be a condom, but it fell flat.

“Well,”

I said and smiled at the audience, “this might be the only time my having a hard head comes in handy.”

It didn’t really answer the judge’s question but it got quite a good response from the audience.

Finally, it was decided we had to do a performance standoff. “Pick your songs carefully, girls,”

the MC said.

My competition went first, lip-syncing to “Read You, Wrote You”

from RuPaul’s Drag Race. The audience reacted like they were on ecstasy, screaming and dancing to the beat.

I figured my chances were over. I was a ballad guy. I didn’t know the songs on Drag Race well enough to sing them, and I sure as hell couldn’t put on a show like the diva before me had, at least not in these heels, so I decided to go old school.

I leaned over to the DJ and said, “Karaoke Whitney Houston, ‘I Have Nothing’.”

“For real?” he asked.

I shrugged. “It’s all I got,”

I said as I followed the diva who’d now left the stage, knowing I’d have to give it my all, since I was following a high-energy performance with a slower ballad.

Several audience members groaned, which did nothing for my esteem, but fuck them all. I was here to perform, and I’d be damned if I didn’t give them a show.

When I got to the point where the music picked up, I’d caught a few followers, and I once again sang to Tommy after finding him in the audience.

The alcohol was doing its job, causing me to lose what few inhibitions I had left, as I did my best Whitney impersonation, arms in the air before sliding them down my sides. As I sang, I stretched the note out perfectly, generating applause.

The audience was singing with me, a really good sign. I noticed Tommy blushing— bizarre, but I didn’t have time to ponder that now.

By the time I got to the second stanza, I’d garnered support from my audience skeptics. Luckily, the music naturally built emotions. The entire audience was now singing.

I put all my alcohol-induced emotions into the song as I sang to my muse…

The audience erupted in applause as I finished. I did my best Whitney wave and exited the stage, trying my hardest not to fall in the stupid shoes.

I thought I’d done well, but apparently, not well enough. The drag race diva took first, leaving my ass in the dust. Oh well, it was worth it though. I’d take two things from tonight. One, I loved to play dress-up, and two, if I wanted to win, I’d have to put a lot more energy into my act. Nothing was handed out on a silver platter, I could hear my old man say in my head, which fit perfectly.

Owen and I chatted and bantered like crazy all the way back to campus.

“Girl, you mopped up tonight. I didn’t think you had that in you.”

“Guess all I needed was some fake tits and a wig to release my inner diva.”

“Please, you’ve always been a diva, ”

Owen countered causing me to laugh.

Tommy was quiet, even more so than normal, and when we got back, he didn’t hang with us like he usually did. Instead, he went upstairs to bed.

“What’s up with him?”

I asked Owen.

Owen just shook his head. “You’re such an ass,”

he said and got up to leave too.

“What?”

I asked, totally confused.

“You are a clueless ass, at that.”

And he left me sitting alone in the living room.

I searched my memories for something I’d said or done to upset Tommy, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what I’d done wrong.

Then I remembered I’d hugged Tommy and teased him as I grabbed his ass.

Damn, I’d done that before but not when I’d been thinking of him sexually.

Maybe I’d given off some sexual vibes. I was treading on our friendship, and I needed to make it clear I didn’t mean to sexualize us.

By the time I got to the room, got the makeup off, and showered, Tommy was turned away from me.

I crawled into bed and thought about how I’d handle things now they were getting weird.

Quietly, I said, “Sorry, Tommy,”

under my breath, hoping he’d at least feel how sorry I was to have hurt him.