Page 19 of Cleats and Pumps

“You’re going to call in your favor by making me dress in drag?”

“Yep,” Amos said, laughing. “I have Rachel, Susan, and Kathy lined up to give us a makeover. It’ll be fun, and with your voice, Tommy’s figure, and my moves, one of us should win.”

I didn’t really want to do it, and I surely didn’t care if I won, but I’d go along for his sake. Drag shows were just another performance, and I wasn’t surprised Amos wanted toparticipate. Be it a Shakespeare play or his moves on the field, he was a born performer.

The girls met us in Owen’s room, and after hours of makeup application, a YouTube video on how to hide “the boys,” and borrowed gowns from our female stylists, the three of us were decked out.

It was… well, an experience was the best way to put it. As luck would have it, Amos won, and Owen came in second. I wasn’t the worst or the best, but like most things, somewhere in the middle. For me, it was more about the event, and I mentally took notes, thinking it would make a great report for the school newspaper, a job I’d just gotten.

Owen scowled as we took a ride share back to the fraternity, saying it was the most uncomfortable he’d ever been and telling Amos, “We’re square now. Never ask me to shave my legs or tuck my junk again!”

Amos was already beaming with over-the-top enthusiasm and Owen’s comment made him laugh.

“Okay, but you were sexy though. You should consider doing drag more.”

“Psst,” Owen said, then went about ignoring Amos mostly at least.

“Okay,” Amos finally said. “I’ll let you off the hook for good, provided you go out to a few bars with me. You too, Tommy.”

“Nope, not gonna happen. My feet hurt, and this shit itches. I’m gonna go wash off the makeup, and get back into some shorts that let my boys breathe.”

Amos laughed, but didn’t push me to go. He and Owen left me at the motel, but even after my shower, I was too wired to sleep.

I sat down at my computer and, after thirty minutes, had my first draft on how Amos, UT Austin’s premier linebacker, had shaken his ass on stage and won first prize in the amateur drag show competition.

I did a few cleanup edits, emailed it to Amos and Owen for their permission, and headed to bed where I fell into a deep sleep. I dreamed of Amos holding me in a romance novel pose, but of course, he was the damsel in distress, and I was the same awkward person I’ve always been.

6

Amos

“OfcourseIlikefootball, 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?”

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