She crosses her arms and leans against her desk. “I hear Clem is off to Georgia with Hannah. Have you given any thought to what’s next for you?”

I shrug. “Community college maybe. I don’t know. We were supposed to go to Austin, but that’s not . . . well, she’s going to Georgia.”

“Community college is a good option,” she says. I can tell she’s not lying, but she’s not telling the whole truth. It’s like she’s waiting for me to say some kind of magic phrase as a sign that it’s safe to let her guard down.

“Too bad there’s no college courses on drag,” I say with a laugh. In Clover City, you either go off to school or you’re stuck here forever.

Her face lights up. “Teachers aren’t supposed to say this, and this might be crossing a line, but . . . I wanted to say . . . college isn’t for everyone, Waylon. Or it doesn’t have to be. And . . . if you’re really serious about drag, I know some of the best queens in Texas. It’s not really ideal career counseling to encourage a student to pursue a career in drag, but it’s a real art form and I think you could really thrive. You know, right down the road, we have our very own—”

“Lee Way,” I finish for her. “She’s amazing.”

She pushes her glasses up into her hair and laughs. “Well, I’m glad to know we have similar taste. Lee is a dear friend. At least I haven’t had an awkward run-in with you at the Hideaway. Though, if I had, you wouldn’t be the first student or former student.”

“Oh, I’ve already had an awkward run-in of my own there,” I say, sounding much more experienced than I am.

“Listen, Waylon, I want you to know that I’m here for you. After graduation, too. Of course, if you need any letters of recommendation for school . . . or an introduction, just let me know.”

“Thank you,” I tell her with as much genuine gratitude as I can muster. It really does mean so much to me. She sees something in me, and if she sees something in me, maybe I can see something in me too. “And Ms. Jennings . . . you’re the shit.”

She chuckles. “Back atcha.”

Out in the parking lot, I head to my truck with an extra bounce in my step.

“There he is!” calls a voice.

I double back, glancing down the aisle of cars to see a whole ton of seniors hanging out in the beds of their pickup trucks. It’s not just any seniors, though. It’s decidedly popular senior guys, most of whom are football players.

“Pumpkin!” calls Bryce.

Patrick Thomas and another guy named Aaron echo him. “Pumpkin!”

Beside them, Tucker stands, leaning up against his brake light. He gives me a single nod.

Bryce lets out a gut-busting laugh. “You two freaks have the same shirt on,” he says, pointing at Patrick.

I look down and then to Patrick, and sure enough, we both have on the same bland polo shirt. Teal with a yellow stripe across the chest.

Patrick laughs. “Yeah, it’s like the supersized version of me.”

“Wow. So clever,” I say dryly. “A fat joke. So groundbreaking.”

“You want to get in on our senior prank plans?” Bryce asks as he regains his composure.

None of these guys outside of Tucker are people I have any interest in making plans with, and speaking of, what is he even doing with these human skid marks?

“Yeah,” says Patrick, “this is equal-opportunity prank planning. Fairies welcome. A friend of Tucker’s is a friend of ours.”

“How progressive of you. I think I’ll pass.” I spare a glance at Tucker. I almost find myself asking, You’re not really friends with these guys, are you? His gaze narrows on the gravel, the vein in his neck twitching.

Oh, so last night he tells me I’m hot and today he can’t make eye contact with me in public. My blood begins to boil. This is what I get for letting him in.

“Let us know if you change your mind,” says Bryce. “If you’re not in on the prank, you might find out that the prank is on you.”

“I’ll take my chances,” I mutter as I walk off to find Hannah and Clem. I look down at my stupid polo shirt. If it didn’t mean wearing my undershirt or taking my chances on what the lost-and-found has to offer, I’d rip this damn thing off right now. I’ve spent years trying to fit in with these two-dimensional lumps of shit and they still treat me like this. I hate myself for spending all these years trying to blend in.

I’m done hiding.

Twenty-Two

“Welp, we want to thank you lot for being here tonight to help us out.” Pastor Rich, a tall, gawky white guy who definitely owns a collection of braided belts, turns to his wife, Sheila, and takes her hand. “We want this little church of ours to be a place for everyone, and we’re so happy to officially have the space to host Parenting with Pride. Hannah, it was so good of you to bring your friends.”

Hannah gives Pastor Rich two thumbs-up, which is honestly something I never thought I would see with my own two eyes.

“Sheila and I will be over in the chapel working on a few things, so come find us if you need anything.” Apparently, Grace Chapel didn’t always meet in a chapel. They used to meet in the shopping center in between Lonestar Tae Kwon Do Academy and Down for the Count, the boxing gym. But after years of saving, they were able to buy the dilapidated Clover City Church of Christ. The building behind the chapel houses a couple of classrooms, including the one where Parenting with Pride will be meeting.

Sheila, a short East Asian woman with round hips and rosy cheeks, takes her husband’s hand. “Everything you should need is right over there in that corner. We’ve got drinks in a cooler and we’d love to order y’all some pizza later.”

I gulp loudly. This is starting to feel very much like youth group, which is very much not my scene.

The minute they’re gone, I turn to Hannah. “This feels like a trap.”

She laughs and starts to hand out brooms and trash bags. “Don’t worry. They won’t spritz you with holy water.”

“Pastor Rich and Miss Sheila are way nicer than my pastor and his wife,” Bekah says. “One time I wore spaghetti straps to church and Pastor Troy asked his wife to give me an extra choir robe so I wouldn’t tempt any of the men during service.”

“That’s disgusting,” Clementine says and pretends to retch.

Hannah playfully rolls her eyes at Clem, because I guess when you’re lovesick, everything your significant other does is adorable. “Hey, where’s Tucker?” she asks, suddenly aware that our numbers are down.

“He texted and said he was running late. He should be here soon.” I take a look around to survey the work ahead of us. Scum-covered windows. Broken blinds. Grimy floors littered with trash and moldy books. It’s a mess so bad that you have to wipe away dirt to more dirt and so on and so on until finally you reach the decaying surface.

I take a broom and Clem a trash bag while Hannah and Bekah start on the windows. We turn on some music, and after a little while, Willowdean and Amanda show up with extra gloves in hand.

“Thanks for helping us out,” Hannah tells them.

“Any reason to escape my brothers for the night,” Amanda says.