Drama Queers! (7 page)

Anyways!

Coming up with what I thought was a totally brilliant idea, I said to Audrey, “I know one way we can find out for sure,” regarding the question of Rob Berger’s hetero or homosexuality. “Somebody should ask him to the Homecoming Dance.”

I looked at her, eyebrows raised for added emphasis.

“You can’t ask another guy to Homecoming!” Audrey declared, totally missing the mark.

“Not me, you stupid Polack!” I yowled, trying not to laugh in her face.

“Watch it, you Band Fag!” she shot back, daggers in her eyes.

“Flaggot!”

“Drama Queer!”

It may appear me and Audrey don’t respect each other, the way we’re constantly hurling the insults. It’s totally not the case. Sure, when we first met at Webb, we used to argue all the time. Back then, we seriously meant every nasty word we said. Yet on that early October afternoon, sitting there in her house just the two of us, I realized we’re practically becoming Best Friends.

That must explain the idiotic thing I did next.

“I meant
you
should ask Rob Berger to the Homecoming Dance.”

Audrey replied, “He doesn’t already got a date?” Again, like she didn’t believe me.

“I asked him the other day after rehearsal…He said no.”

She looked at me like I was certifiably insane. “Rob Berger is a Varsity football player…He’s not gonna go to Homecoming with some lard-ass Flaggot–Drama Queer.”

Part of me was being selfish for putting Audrey up to the task, but I
really
wanted to find out which side Rob likes to “butter his bread on,” as Grandma Victor always says. And
I
sure as hell wasn’t gonna ask him to Homecoming. If it turned out Rob isn’t gay, he’d totally kick my ass!

“First of all,” I started to explain, “Rob Berger is a Drama Queer himself…Secondly, you are not a lard-ass. You’re
curvaceous
, like Marilyn Monroe.” One of my favorite actresses, by the way, along with Lana Turner, whose 14-year-old daughter once went on trial for killing Lana’s mobster ex-boyfriend…Talk about scan-ju-lous!

“I’m 5’7” and I’ve got child-bearing hips,” Aud informed me, hands upon them for added emphasis.

“So what?” I quipped. “Some men like a woman with meat on her bones.”

Sure, maybe Audrey wasn’t cheerleader or even Vikette material, but she’s got a pretty face and beautiful auburn hair flowing down to her waist. And she’s got an awesome personality. That should count for something, you know what I mean?

“I can’t ask a guy to a dance,” she retorted, giving up the ship. “I’ll look desperate.”

“Well, aren’t you?” I only half joked. “Pretend it’s Sadie Hawkins.”

Speaking of…

If we don’t end up doing
Grease
in the spring, I hope Dell honors our second request,
Li’l Abner
. My role of choice would be Abner, of course, but I’m sure Rob Berger (and his bod) would look much better in a pair of overalls. I’ll settle for Marry in’ Sam.

“I’ll think about it,” Audrey concluded.

“No…You’ll
do
it.”

She trailed after me as I headed into her kitchen. “Get back here, Dayton!”

I picked up the black rotary dial phone from where it hung on the wall since 1960-something. Handing it to Audrey, I dialed Rob Berger’s number, which I totally had memorized: 544-3616.

She bobbed and weaved, trying to dodge me like a Detroit Piston. “Get the fuck outta here!” Aud howled, having a giggle fit.

I could tell she totally wanted to ask Rob to be her Homecoming date. She just needed a little encouragement.

Thru the end of the phone, I could hear the hollow ring…Once, twice, thrice.

Who the hell ever says thrice?

“Hello?”

From across town in Ferndale, Rob picked up. His family lives on Edgeworth, over by Edison Elementary where he went with Shellee “What’s up, Fox?” Findlay.

“Talk to him,” I hissed, hoping Rob wouldn’t hear me. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was in on anything, even though I totally was.

“Hello?” Rob said a second time, sounding mildly annoyed. “Anybody there?”

Audrey thrust the phone in my direction.

I ducked.

It hit the papered wall.

“Now look what you’ve done!” I scolded. By the time I retrieved the receiver from where it plopped in Patches’s litter box, Rob already hung up. “Call him back…Now!”

“
You
call him back!”

I hesitated for maybe a second, then redialed: 544–3616.

Rob picked up after half a ring. “Who is this?” he demanded, skipping the customary salutation.

“Hey, Rob…It’s Brad Dayton.”

I tried my best to sound nonchalant.

“Hey, Bradley…What’s up?”

I love it when he calls me Bradley!

“Nothing much,” I lied, feeling totally deceitful. “I’m over Audrey’s helping her and Tuesday with their scene for Drama…”

I started babbling about how Tuesday had a fit and went home, so me and Aud were just hanging out, wondering what he was up to.

“Just got home from football practice.”

And are you all hot and sweaty and in need of a sponge bath?

Then Rob surprised me by saying, “Did you just call here a minute ago and hang up?”

“Wasn’t me,” I lied again, shooting Miss Wojczek my best look of spite.

I didn’t know what to say next.

Hey, Rob…You should totally go to Homecoming with Audrey. Unless you’re a Big Fag. Then you could just skip the dance altogether and fool around with me instead
.

At that moment, Rob said, “I’m glad you called.”

“Oh, yeah?” I asked, feeling a little light-headed knowing he was happy hearing from me.

“Is Audrey there with you?”

I looked over at my accomplice. “She’s standing right here.”

“Can I talk to her for a sec?” Rob asked, catching me off guard.

I relinquished the phone.

Audrey said, “Hello?” She paused a moment, nodded and smiled. “Um…Okay.” Finally, she hung up, reporting, “He’s definitely not a fag.”

I had a feeling I wasn’t gonna like her response, but I needed an answer. “How do you know?”

Audrey’s face lit up like the Fisher building. “Rob Berger just asked me to Homecoming.”

What the fuck?

To quote Crystal Bernard from
High School USA
with Michael J. Fox and Nancy McKeon talking about her boyfriend, Beau Middleton: “I would eat maggots for him.”

That’s how totally in love with Rob Berger I am.

Just because Audrey’s a
girl
, she gets to go to the dance with him, and do God-only-knows-what-else in the backseat of his Pinto afterwards?

No fucking fair!

All I can say is…I am
not
teaching her how to give a blowjob.

Time for the big announcement!

12:00 PM. 4
^th
hour. The auditorium.

On stage right, sit the “Top 25” girls. On stage left, the “Top 25” guys. Standing at the podium in the center, Mr. Verlander, wearing what I think is the exact same permanent-press shirt and throwback-to-the-’70s wide tie he wore to the all-school assembly last week.

He promises, “We’re gonna make this short and sweet,” addressing the members of the Hillbilly High student body who actually cared enough to come back from lunch for the ceremony.

I look out from where I sit in alphabetical order between boys’ Varsity basketball co-captain Kenny Daw and Varsity cheerleader Raquel Easterle. But nowhere in the crowd do I see my so-called Best Friends, Jack Paterno and Max Wilson. I hope this doesn’t take too long. This gray aluminum folding chair is killing my ass.

“Quiet down, please…Boys and girls.”

Okay, Verlander…I realize you’re almost as old as Methuselah, but come on! Just because we’re still in high school doesn’t mean we’re babies. Most of us have already had
sex
, you know what I mean? Not that I’m gonna go graphic with all the gory details or anything.

“As you know,” Verlander continues, “we’re here to announce the winners of the ‘Top 5’ Homecoming…”

I think he means, “Homecoming ‘Top 5.’”

Finally, in the fifth row center off the aisle, I spy Jack sitting with Max. No matter how disappointed he may be, I knew he’d be here for what could potentially be the biggest day of my life. Not that I’m expecting to make “Top 5” or anything.

Mr. Verlander taps his front shirt pocket. We can all see a plain white envelope tucked safely inside. “The names I’m about to read,” he tells us, “represent ten of the best students we’ve ever had here at Hazel Park High School…”

Spare me!
He says that every year.

“Among them are cheerleaders…”

Like Jamieleeann Mary Sue Good and Shellee Findlay.

“…football players…”

Like Tom Fulton and Rob Berger, maybe?

“…members of Vikettes…”

Marie Sperling or Angela Andrews?

“…members of girls’ Varsity basketball…”

I’m thinking,
Fay Keating
.

“…and boys’ Varsity basketball…”

Gotta be Kenny Daw!
He’s the cutest basketball player HPHS has got.

“As in years past,” Mr. Verlander drones on, “we’re proud to have a member of the Viking Marching Band among our Homecoming Court for 1987.”

Two years ago, the Hillbilly High-ons elected Freddy Edwards, a totally hot sax playing Band Fag who happened to also be captain of Varsity wrestling, as Homecoming King. Freddy served as our Band Aide back in 7
^th
grade Varsity Band at Webb, and all the girls thought he was a Total Babe…Okay, so did I.

You can bet when I hear this, I look up from the spot I been staring at for what seems like forever. Still, there’s no way in hell Mr. Verlander can be talking about me.

He’s gotta mean Don Olsewski…
Doesn’t he?

“Without further ado…”

The auditorium falls pin-drop quiet as Mr. Verlander pulls out the number ten envelope. Breaking the seal with a slide of a finger, he looks over his shoulder. The twenty-five “Top 25” girls sit perched, each one dressed in her Sunday best, hair freshly permed with crown-bangs sprayed to full height.

“Beginning with the ladies,” Verlander says, addressing them en masse. “When I call your name, please stand.” Turning back to the peons in the pit, he advises, “Let’s hold our applause till the end, shall we?”

Fingers crossed at my side, I say a silent prayer for my good friend, Stacy Gillespie. She’s just gotta make “Top 5.” She’s like the cutest and nicest girl in all of HPHS.

“In no particular order,” Mr. Verlander stresses, “first up we have…Rochelle Findlay.”

I told you she’s Most Popular Girl!

Shellee stands, giving her “What’s up, Fox?” wave. Despite strictly being told
not
to succumb, a spatter of applause spouts from her adoring fans. Mr. Verlander ignores the ruckus and returns to his list.

“Jamieleeann Mary Sue Good.”

Senior class president, Varsity cheerleading captain, secretary of National Honor Society, and don’t forget she’s in Chorale.

“Fay Keating.”

The very sporty and very popular girls’ Varsity basketball co-captain.

Like I said, I been friends with Fay since she came over to Webb from St. Mary’s, so I’m totally psyched for her. Did I mention how awesome she looks since she cut her hair super short and added a few blond highlights?

“Marie Sperling.”

Co-captain of Vikettes…
Surprise, surprise!

Don’t get me wrong, I love Marie. In fact, she was my first costar when we did that silent movie skit back in Ms. Lemieux’s 7
th
grade Enriched English & Social Studies…’member? Thank God she finally broke up with that jerk Tom Fulton. He did not deserve her!

With only one more slot left to fill, I can’t help but worry, who’s it gonna be?

Natalie Davis?

Betsy Sheffield?

Please, God, don’t let it be her, let it be…

“Stacy Gillespie.”

Woo–hoo!

Stacy stands. She brushes a strand of her brown bob behind an ear, forcing a shy smile as she catches my eye.

“Congratulations,” I whisper, hoping Stacy will soon have reason to reciprocate.

Mr. Verlander nods, pleased that he’s made these five particular girls’ day. “Ladies, please remain standing while I announce the names of the ‘Top 5’ gentlemen…”

Today!

He looks over his other shoulder towards us guys. Since I’m sitting in the front row, I can’t speak for those behind me, but I feel Kenny Daw’s leg tense up as it touches mine. I get the feeling he’s as fucking nervous as I am.

“Fellas…When I call your name, please stand.” And to the peons in the pit, Verlander says, “Again, let’s try to hold our applause.”

Fingers still crossed at my side, I say another silent prayer—this time for
myself
. I may act all devil-may-care, like being on “Top 5” is totally no biggie. To be honest, it’s something I been dreaming of since the day I first heard of its existence during Sophomore year.

“Again in no particular order,” Mr. Verlander insists, “first up…Thomas Fulton.”

Varsity football
and
boys’ basketball co-captain.

I’m just glad Tom is sitting in the row behind me so I don’t have to see the smug look on his face when he stands and takes in the thunderous applause that erupts from the Peanut Gallery. I mean, why can’t these people pay attention to anything they’re told? “Hold your applause” means “Do
not
clap!” Clearly, Tom Fulton is the Hillbilly High Homecoming King favorite for 1987…I think I’m gonna puke!

“Jonathan Glowicki.”

Varsity football
and
boys’ basketball player.

“Kenneth Daw.”

Despite doing his best to act all cool, I can tell Kenny’s totally psyched. So much so, he reaches out and High-Fives me, which comes as a surprise. It’s not every day the co-captain of boys’ Varsity basketball fraternizes with this Band Fag-turned-Drama Queer.

“Mitchell Bloodworth.”

Yet another Varsity football player.

Five seats over, via my peripheral vision, I see a white-blond head nodding up and down on a pair of linebacker’s shoulders. Mitch rises and joins the rest of the ’87 Homecoming Court.

Shit!

That means there’s only one name left.

In his intro, Mr. Verlander clearly stated that one of the names on the list belonged to a member of Marching Band. That means no Rob Berger or Joey Palladino on “Top 5.” I’m totally shocked.

Could it be…?

What about Don Olsewski? He’s in Marching Band…

But so am I!

Time slows to a standstill, like in that moment from my favorite movie,
Ice Castles,
with real-life skater Lynn-Holly Johnson, and Robby Benson, from
Ode to Billy Joe
.

After skyrocketing to the top of the circuit, Alexis “Lexie” Winston has become everybody’s darling, prompting her to freak out because people wanna
touch
her all the time. At a rooftop party, Lexie goes out for a breath of fresh air. What better way to relax than by skating some laps? As a slew of party guests look on, along with her coach, Deborah Machland, and new boyfriend, the sleazy-but-oh-so-cute newscaster Brian Dockett, Lexie makes her way around the ice.

Up to this point, she’s been working on landing the triple, but Coach Deborah keeps telling Lexie she’s not good enough—the bitch! Faster and faster, the music builds. Until everything starts moving in slow-mo as Lexie prepares to make the leap…One. Two. Three.

Clunk!

The blade of Lexie’s skate catches on some stupid chain wrapped around some stupid outdoor patio furniture set up alongside the skating rink. Down she tumbles, smacking her head—hard! Thus causing Alexis Winston’s whole world to come crashing to a halt.

I won’t ruin the rest of the plot. All I
will
say is…It’s totally tragic.

“And last, but certainly not least,” Mr. Verlander concludes, “the final name on the 1987 ‘Top 5’ Homecoming is…”

Please, God, don’t let it be Don Olsewski, let it be
…

“Bradley Dayton.”

Oh, my God…He fucking called my name…Again!

Like a dork I stand up, trying not to look too enthused, yet wanting to convey how honored I am to be recognized. Only this time, I keep my hands at my side. No more waving like fucking Queen Elizabeth!

Unfortunately, I can’t tell you what happens after this.

Next thing I’m aware of is the blinding flash of a flashbulb flashing in my face. I’m standing beside Shellee Findlay. All the “Top 5” girls have been paired up with a “Top 5” boy and we’re having our pictures taken.

“S-H-E-L-L-
E-E
.”

Miss Findlay reminds the photographer this as he writes down her name with pad and pencil.

“And yours?” I hear a voice say. “Would you prefer Brad or Bradley?”

I blink a few times, hoping to dissipate the fog from inside my head.

“Whatever,” I reply, not even sure if I heard the question.

For the first time, I notice who the guy with the camera standing in front of me is.

None other than the Editor-in-Chief of
The Hazel Parker
, and my Best Friend since 7th grade: Jack Paterno.

He looks at me, says nothing. Then he walks away.

Somehow, I just
knew
Jack would be be pissed!

Three days later, I write the following…