“Let’s see this hair,” I tell my sister, who is wearing the dress she bought online from the Forever 21 clearance section. It’s a black mod-looking number with a giant lavender bow that hangs from the collar down the length of the dress. She’s also traded her glasses for contacts, which she’s always too lazy to do in the mornings.

“Did you and Hannah match on purpose?”

She swivels around in her desk chair. “What? No. I just told her my dress was lavender and black.”

“Well, she must really like you. A very chic color combo, by the way.”

She smiles, and I think she might actually melt at the thought of Hannah matching her outfit to her dress.

“Hair time,” I say.

Clem had shown Carla a picture of Adele, but all Carla saw was BIG HAIR and she sort of ignored the whole sixties vibe of it all. I’m not necessarily good with hair, but I still do my best to tame it all into a ponytail at the nape of her neck with a good bit of volume left on top.

“The tux has arrived.”

I turn around to find Grammy framed in the doorway. “Yes! Thank you!”

She hands the garment bag over. “Now, I just went with my grandmotherly intuition here.”

“I’m sure it’s perfect,” I tell her, and run into my room.

“Wait a minute,” she says, following me down the hall. “I’ve got one more thing.” She pulls a shoebox from her giant tote bag. “I should have given these to you the other day before your big show, but they just came in the mail this morning.”

I lay my tux on the bed and open the box to find bright-red patent leather heels. “Oh my God, how did you find these in my size?” The heel isn’t too tall, and it’s thick, so I think I might actually be able to walk in these. Tonight!

“Would you believe me if I told you the girl at the library reference desk helped me find them? Turns out there’s whole internet stores just for drag queens.”

I drop them on my bed and throw my arms around her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” I’m so lucky to have someone who believes in me this much. It makes me not only want to do drag, but do it and be tremendously good at doing it.

“Well, you know your grammy had to be the one to buy you your first real pair of high heels. Honestly, it’s a shame we don’t wear the same size. Now, go get dressed.”

I unzip the bag and try my best not to look at anything too closely. I want to have a big reveal moment in the mirror, so I put it on as fast as I can and highlight my cheeks with a little bit of shimmery eyeshadow before adding clear lip gloss. And then I step into my shoes, balancing myself on my bedpost. I let go and—okay, okay. This isn’t so bad. I’ll probably bring a spare pair of shoes in the truck, but I think this is going to work.

I step in front of the mirror hanging from the back of my door and let myself take it all in.

I run my fingers down the front of my suit jacket. It nips in at all the right places. The pants are cut close to my thighs and are hemmed short enough to show off my heels. My black bow tie is sharp, but the real showstoppers are the rainbow lining of my suit jacket and the rainbow cummerbund draped around my belly like a victory banner. For as long as I can remember, my clothing has never felt like me, but this outfit doesn’t sacrifice a thing. It shows me off. Not just my body. But me.

Grammy outdid herself.

There’s a quiet knock on the door, and I open it to see Grammy waiting for me.

“Well?” she asks.

“It’s perfect. It’s everything I wanted,” I tell her.

“I tailored the pants a little, like you kids like to wear them. Skinny pants.”

I reach for her hand and squeeze it.

“Did you see inside the lapel?” she asks.

I open my jacket to see a small, slightly lopsided pumpkin stitched into the black fabric right before the lining begins.

My eyes begin to water and she waves a finger in my face. “No puffy eyes for this queen.”

I nod with fervor.

She takes a step back to admire her handiwork. “When the world isn’t selling what you’re looking to buy, you just have to take it upon yourself to cut your own pattern.”

Thirty-Five

The three of us take every possible combination of pictures you can assemble with three people before prom.

Hannah’s grandmother is even there with her cell phone snapping pictures.

While Hannah is running back to her car for the matching corsages she bought for her and Clem, Hannah’s grandmother nudges me with her elbow. “Clementine talks about you nonstop. I’m always telling her to bring you over.”

“I’m a recluse, Ms. Perez,” I whisper.

“Call me Grandma Camile or ’Lita. And from the way my Hannah tells it, you’re the life of the party.”

“Oh, is that true?” Has Hannah told Grandma Camile about my drag queen aspirations?

Her eyes sparkle a little as she watches Clementine pin the corsage to Hannah’s jacket. “You interested in keeping an old lady with an empty nest company? I’m sure you’re busy with plenty, but—”

“Actually,” I tell her, “old ladies are right on brand for me.” I could hang with Grandma Camile every once in a while. She’s got good energy.

She pats me on the chest and needlessly straightens my bow tie. “It’s a date. Now get over there so I can get some more pictures.”

The three of us assemble again, and my mother poses us like bendable Barbies until my jaw aches and the smile has melted off my face.

“Tío Braulio says to knock ’em dead tonight!” Grandma Camile tells Hannah with a thumbs-up.

“Tell him I said thanks and to stop sending me envelopes full of pennies for my birthday. It’s not funny and I only accept payment in gift cards now that I’m a grown-ass adult.”

Grandma Camile tsks at her. “Enough with the mouth, mija. My Facebook audience is family friendly.”

Hannah’s jaw drops open. “Are you livestreaming this?” She breaks her pose with Clem and begins to stomp forward, reaching for her grandmother’s phone.

“Aaaaand that’s a wrap on prom pictures,” I say as Clementine laughs so hard she’s got tears streaming down her face.

We drive in my truck to the Clover City Country Club and Dance Hall, where nearly every wedding and special event in town is held. Last year, the club supposedly told the school district that they’d have to find a new place to host prom after some students drove a couple of golf carts into a pond, but I guess someone’s parents stepped in with a threat, money, or both, because they let us back in.

“I think that’s the line for valet,” says Clem, pointing to a line of flashy cars.

“Is that free?” I ask. “Does that come with the ticket?”

“Shouldn’t there be some kind of nominee perk?” Hannah asks.

As we walk in, I call over my shoulder, “You live in Clover City! You are not too fancy to park your own car!”

This year’s theme is Hollywood Nights, and there is an actual red carpet rolled out for us. At the start of the carpet is a sign that reads THANK YOU TO OUR SPONSOR, JED’S CARPET! Inside, we hand over our tickets, which were actually the perk of being a nominee. Everyone else had to cough up eighty bucks for this evening of elegance. There are balloon arches and cardboard cutouts of Hollywood stars like Robert Pattinson, The Rock, Beyoncé, Jennifer Aniston, Cardi B, and Homer Simpson, which I’m guessing generated a heated discussion among the decoration committee.