Page 20 of Cleats and Pumps

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 inBirdcage.

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 onRuPaul’s Drag Racewould 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 bein 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.

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