I want to give her one magically stereotypical high school moment. Is that so weird? I never did homecoming or sports or plays or anything, but I feel like I’m owed at least one moment. We’re owed. And I hate wanting it, because I’m close enough to get it, ya know?”
I nod. “We’re flying close to the sun here.” I understand completely. Being this close to accomplishing the high school dream is intoxicating.
“But it’s ridiculous to even think about saying out loud. Small-town stud wins homecoming king and dances into the night with her perfect girlfriend. That’s not real. But it could be. And now I want it and when I don’t get it, it’ll hurt. The disappointment will sting.” She inhales sharply, and her faint smile looks like it could devolve into tears at any moment.
I shake my head. What would Clem do? She would give a pep talk. “You are smart and funny and you’ve got this style that’s all your own. The crown can’t be your prize. Don’t make it your goal. You can’t control that outcome, but what you can control is telling Clem you love her. That’s the prize. That’s the magically stereotypical moment for you to share with her. The crown? That piece of plastic is just the cherry on top of your queer sundae.”
“Let’s go, people!” calls Mrs. Leonard.
I pull Hannah by the wrist. “Come on, Romeo, let’s do this.”
“Speaking of queer sundaes,” she says, “I like the outfit.”
I do a twirl. “Oh, this little thing?”
My mom had so kindly ironed the khaki pants I’ve worn to weddings, funerals, church. But after a quick skim through Grammy’s closet last night, I opted for leggings and a knit rainbow poncho. Grammy called it the statement of all statement pieces. Nothing says fat gay guy running for prom queen like a rainbow poncho, and after that kiss last night, no one can tell me a damn thing.
We all line up, and that’s when I see Tucker three people down, next to Hannah and the other king nominees. He wears black jeans with brown boots and a black-and-white check shirt rolled up to the elbows. So basically, he looks like a hot lumberjack. Wow, I didn’t know I had a type, but apparently I do, and the category is: hot lumberjack.
I catch his eye, and he leans out of line to give me a wave.
Beside me Melissa waves at him as well, but then notices that his gaze reaches over her head to me. She shakes her hand out, like she was shaking it awake after falling asleep instead of waving at her ex-boyfriend.
“Blood circulation is a bitch,” I say.
She laughs. “So you saw that?”
I wink down at her. “Secret’s safe with me.”
She sighs, and it’s the kind of sigh only induced by hot lumberjacks. “Thanks.”
Onstage, Millie Michalchuk wears a sharp black skirt suit with a baby-pink blouse and a bow tie that looks like cat whiskers. It’s the kind of outfit that says I am very serious about everything including looking cute.
She announces us one by one, reciting a brief bio she must have written for each of us, because I have no memory of writing one myself. Everyone else’s bios are lists of extracurriculars and academic achievements while mine mentions choir and my “tight-knit” relationship with my twin sister. Even Hannah surprises me with the fact that she’s in the top 5 percent of our class, but—maybe it’s my imagination—I swear that after I’m announced, the cheers from the audience are louder and more enthusiastic than they are for the rest of the queen nominees. I can’t help but wonder if my performance on Saturday night was memorable for others too.
The queen nominees sit in a row in chairs while the king nominees sit staggered behind us on stools.
Tucker leans forward and says, “Can we talk after this? About prom?”
I smile and nod wordlessly. Is Tucker Watson going to ask me to prom? It takes every ounce of self-control for me not to whirl around and demand he spit it out right this moment.
Millie asks us each a few basic questions, like our favorite classes and who our heroes are. (My answer, Ursula the sea witch, is met with applause and whoops of delight.)
“Okay,” says Millie, “Waylon, I’m going to let you start us off with this one. What’s your favorite memory from your time at Clover City High?”
I laugh, momentarily forgetting that I’m onstage in front of the entire senior class. “Nothing.”