I have two choices: One, I could dig into Clem and let her know that I feel personally violated that she would share that video with anyone. Or two, I can play it off and act like it’s no big deal. I quickly decide that option two will elicit the lesser reaction from Kyle.
“Babe, what are you even talking about?” Alex asks Kyle as he curls in next to him on the risers. Some people might say that’s a lot of PDA for two high school dudes in a tiny Texas town, but this room—the choir room—is a little microscopic queer-kid haven in a kingdom built for cis-het white good ol’ boys.
I slump onto Ms. Jennings’s chair behind her music stand and turn to Alex. “I slapped together a silly little audition video forFiercest of Them All. Not a big deal, honestly. And really it was just a joke.”
Kyle smiles in that glittering, charismatic way that reminds me he is such a politician. “Didn’t seem like muchof a joke to me. I mean, can you imagine what an inspiration it would be for the younger members of Prism?”
I grin and bite back whatever sarcastic remark is trying to claw its way free. “Wow, Kyle. I hadn’t even thought about that.”
Clem nods, likewow, Kyle is such a genius. Wow, Kyle, what a big genius brain you have.
“That makes the club sound like a charity case,” says Corey, the quiet ninth grader who usually stands on the riser below me. Their curly blue hair is vivid against their light-brown complexion and they wear a shirt that says I EAT GENDER NORMS FOR BREAKFAST. “But you really should come some time, Waylon. For some of my friends, you’re like one of the first gay people they heard about in town.”
I think I was supposed to find that touching, and I do, really. But suddenly, I feel very old, like I’m one step away from referring to Corey as ayouth.
Kyle clutches his chest and looks at Corey like a proud papa. “Corey’s taking the reins next year.”
I look past Kyle and smile at Corey. “Congratulations.”
Ms. Jennings breezes through the door of her classroom, and I don’t use the wordbreezelightly. Somehow the goddesses of the universe have gifted us with this woman due to the fact that her wife (You heard that right! A gay teacher! In Clover City!) signed a deal with the city a few years back to do some kind of revitalization project that’s supposed to drag us into the twenty-first century twentysomething years later.
Ms. Jennings, a tall Black woman, with her natural hair always playfully styled into two pom-poms on the top of her head, is a little bit chic and a little bit eccentric. Her patron saints are Lauryn Hill and Tori Amos, and her room is decorated in concert posters from shows she’s actually been to, including some for a thing called Lilith Fair that she swears was her own personal awakening. Sure, she’s a little stuck in the nineties/aughts, but it’s charming in a relic-of-the-past kind of way.
“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 notjusta 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.”
