Dumplin' (16 page)

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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Cardboard stars and crepe streamers hang from the rafters, but they're not enough to make me ignore the lingering body odor and forget that we're in the gymnasium. The music reflects off the walls, reminding everyone that this place was not built for the acoustics.

“This is cool,” yells Mitch into my ear.

“Yeah.” Except it's not. There are maybe fifteen people dancing, while everyone else spreads out on the bleachers. There's this weird hormonal energy in the air that I've never noticed before. Maybe because students are getting away with an insane amount of PDA that would never be tolerated during normal school hours.

Ellen sits perched on the bleachers with Callie and her boyfriend. Tim's got one arm draped over El's shoulder and his head is leaning so far back I think he might be asleep. Callie's boyfriend is overattentive and rubs his hand up and down her thigh in a weird way that makes me shiver while she and El whisper back and forth, sharing secrets, I'm sure.

I catch Callie pointing at me, and turn away. “Hey, I'm going to run to the bathroom.”

Mitch's lips form a question, but he just nods.

In the bathroom, I turn the faucet on high and let the hot water rush over my hands until they're red. I hate that I can't just go in there and tell El about what a fool I made of myself when I asked Mitch to this thing. This distance between us started months ago. I know that. But maybe she didn't. Maybe you only ever notice the distance when it's you who's being left behind. I should've shut my big mouth and not said anything about the pageant, but Ellen signing up somehow felt like scoring points for the other team. I don't know.

“Can I give you some advice?”

I stand up straight, my brain coming back from its tangent. “Hi, Callie.”

She watches me in the reflection of the mirror. “I know El has been, like, super good to you since you guys were kids. But you telling her she couldn't enter the pageant? That was a shit thing for you to do.”

I feel naked. Like, somehow, in the midst of all of her anger, El might have revealed every little one of my secrets and insecurities. “Callie, listen, I don't know you, but I don't have to know much to know that I don't like you. So back off and mind your own business.”

“Whatever.” She throws her hands up. “Ya know, she's better off without you. At least now you're not around to drag her down.” She turns, but then whips back around to add, “And you wanna know what else? If you would put a little effort in and take care of yourself, you'd be surprised how much of a difference it would make. And I don't even
mean that in a rude way. I'm just being honest.” Reaching down the front of her dress, she re-tucks her boobs into her bra. “By the way, despite what you and your friends might think, this pageant isn't some feel-good after-school project where you get an A for effort.” She walks off. Which is good because I'm about two steps away from breaking her nose.

The door swings shut behind her, and I listen as her heels clack against the linoleum floor.

Maybe she's right. Maybe my life would fall into place if I could shed a hundred pounds. I'm holding back the tears brimming in my eyes. Maybe it all comes down to me and this body.

Mitch is dutifully waiting for me behind the DJ, who isn't actually a DJ, but instead the varsity basketball manager armed with an iPod and speaker access.

I knock his elbow with mine. “Let's dance.”

Mitch follows me out to the dance floor where I find Millie and her date, Malik. Amanda's with them, too.

I'm kind of starting to love Amanda. She's brusque and odd and the opposite of everyone else I know. She's the type of person who overcommits to tapping her foot to the music and takes every joke too far. Right now, with her head bopping and her limbs flailing, she almost looks like one of those one-man bands, but without instruments.

I introduce them to Mitch even though we've all gone to school together forever.

Amanda elbows me in the side and whispers, “Not bad. But he's no peachbutt.”

“What about you?” I ask. “Did you ask anyone?”

She leans in, but doesn't stop moving her head. “Options were limited, so I decided to fly solo.”

“You're not solo!” yells Millie. “You're with us. Right, Malik?”

Malik takes Millie's hand. “Yeah, of course.”

My damn heart explodes. Because, to me, Malik and Millie are homecoming/winter formal/spring fling/prom king and queen combined into one.

The next song starts up and it's the type of song that makes people rub their crotches together. Because they're horrible human beings, Millie, Amanda, and Malik abandon us for the refreshments table.

The space around us is filling in with horny teenagers. Mitch must see the panic in my face. He takes my arms and wraps them around his neck. His meaty hands barely touch my waist, but I suck in as deep as I can. I can't help it. And, in the midst of the grinding and sloppy making out, we begin to slow dance.

“I like takin' it easy,” Mitch says. He is the epitome of southern gentleman in his creased khakis, plaid pearl-snap shirt, and brown boots.

Slowly, I let my body ease into his.

We dance slow to fast songs and fast to slow songs, creating our own rhythm.

Patrick works his way over to us, basically dry humping as many girls as he can on his way. “Hey, man,” he says to Mitch. “I'd be careful with this one. She's violent.” And then to me he says, “The baby maker still works. In case
you were wondering.”

I shake my head. “God save us all,” I say.

Patrick rocks back and forth on his heels. “I hear you got some of your friends to join the pageant with you. You better make sure they know it's a beauty contest and not a livestock show.”

He's gone before either of us can respond.

Mitch takes a step forward, but I squeeze his arm, pulling him back.

“You know he's disgusting, right?” I say.

“I'm not saying you're wrong.”

I only see Bo and Bekah during one slow song, like the kind of couple who have their pictures taken in white shirts and jeans or the kind who go on family vacations together during the summer.

And I hate it.

I rest my cheek against Mitch's shoulder. Bo glances up, but this time I don't look away. There on the floor of the gymnasium, our eyes meet. And I can imagine that it's us dancing out here, all on our own. Not because the room is empty, but because no one else matters.

“I went to a dance in middle school,” Mitch says. “My mom made me. I had to wear my Easter Sunday suit. I was the only kid that dressed up.”

My eyes stay with Bo and I am acutely aware of the fire licking against my rib cage. “Did you have a date?” My voice is far away.

“No one really had dates. I mean, you know, there were people who called each other boyfriend and girlfriend, but
that was it.”

Bekah says something and, after a moment that feels like good-bye, Bo looks away. The two of them slip off behind a wall of people.

I watch the empty space left by Bo. “Did you dance with anyone?”

Mitch drags his finger up and down my spine, and I know that this little bit of contact is a leap for him. “Nope. Just sat in a folding chair next to the chaperones all night. Hung out with some guys doing layups on the other side of the gym. But no dancing.”

“Well.” I lift my head. “You're dancing now.”

He grins. “Worth the wait.”

Later, as we're walking to the parking lot with sounds of the dance winding down behind us, my kitten heels dangle from my fingers, and Mitch holds his arm out for me. Inside the dance, the rules didn't apply. I was allowed to lean my head on his chest and let him wrap his arms around me because it was a dance and that's what you do at dances. But out here, outside of that bubble, it's different. I don't want to be the one to lead him on and turn this into something it's not.

He smiles. I hook my arm through his because I've ruined so much lately and I'm not ready to add this night to the list.

“You're still not talking to Ellen?”

“Nope.” I hadn't told him the exact circumstances, but I told him we'd gotten into a fight—a real one. I didn't really want to share more and he hasn't asked.

“You guys have been inseparable forever. I remember when we were doing
Where the Red Fern Grows
in sixth grade and we were reading book reports in front of the class.”

I nod. “She always cried when we got to the part with the dog.” She hated that book. El's not the type of person who can read something that's made her cry and think it was good because it touched her. No, books or movies that make Ellen cry infuriate her. Like, it's some kind of betrayal.

“So you finished reading the report for her.”

“She practiced it in front of the mirror dozens of times. She was so pissed when she started crying.” I pick my head up after realizing I'd been leaning against his arm this whole time.

He opens the car door for me. “How long are you going to let this go on?”

For a split second, I think he's talking about me and him. “She's got new friends anyway,” I say after he slides in behind the wheel. “I guess I'm no match for Callie.”

“Listen,” he says. “I obviously don't know the whole story here, but good friendships are durable. They're meant to survive the gaps and the growing pains.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

Amanda Lumbard is a horrible driver, but since Millie couldn't use her mom's van tonight, she's the only one of us who has access to a car that both works and can fit all four of us comfortably.

“That was sweet of your mom to let us borrow her van,” says Millie.

Amanda shrugs it off, her foot weighing down on the gas before she sees another car in the distance and starts tapping the gas. “She was actually kinda excited to hear I was going out with friends. Even if it is a Tuesday night.”

I nod along. I didn't really give all the details when I invited them via group text.

ME: Hey, so I think we can all agree that we've got some things to work on before this pageant. There's this pageant-ish event going on in Odessa tomorrow night and I think we could pick up some pointers.

HANNAH: My dance card is full.

ME: We're going to need transportation, too. My car's out of commission.

MILLIE: Sitting here with Amanda. We're in. She can drive. Can't wait!

HANNAH: Fine. I'll go.

The half truth is that I feel responsible for the three of them and I thought maybe we could use some pointers for the pageant. I'm not trying to be a ringleader or anything, but if I hadn't started this whole thing, we wouldn't be in this boat.

The whole truth is that I needed a ride. That's kind of horrible of me, I know. But I paid for Amanda's gas, and her mom's van isn't cheap to fill up. So I'm absolved, kind of.

As we speed further and further away from town, I listen as Millie and Amanda bicker back and forth over some series of books they're reading while I sit in the back with Hannah and a crumpled paper in my hand.

DOLLY PARTON NIGHT!

Come see your favorite Dolly Parton impersonators duke it out for the crowning glory of best little whore in Texas!
Winner gets bragging rights and a one-year supply of Avon lipsticks courtesy of our very own Kiwi Lavender!
The Hideaway on Palmer and Fourth Odessa, Texas
Doors open at 8! Show starts at 9!

As we pull into the parking lot, Millie turns to me. “You're sure this is the right place?”

I check the cross street and point to the hot-pink sign that blinks THE HIDEAWAY. I recognize this place from
the picture of Lucy that Mrs. Dryver gave me to keep. “This is it.”

“What kind of pageant would be in a bar? This is a bar, right?” she asks.

I clear my throat. “I think it's probably best if we keep an open mind. And I didn't say it was a pageant necessarily.”

Hannah laughs. “This should be good.”

We all pile out of the car.

Amanda stands in the flickering pool of light below the sign. “My mom's van is safe here, right?”

None of us answer.

There's a short line at the door with a group of gay guys in front of us. Or what I assume to be gay guys. This is going to sound totally Podunk of me, but I've never actually met a gay person. Well, I mean, someone who was open about it. There are gay people in Clover City, I'm sure, but the ones I've heard of have been treated as urban legends or cautionary tales. Lucy had lots of gay friends online because, as she put it, Dolly Parton is the patron saint of gay men.

There are moments in my life when I feel like I know everything and that I've left no rock unturned. But things like this remind me of how small my world is.

“Y'all, I think those were gay guys,” whispers Amanda after they go through the door.

Hannah rolls her eyes. “You're a fucking Einstein.”

Amanda is undeterred. “How do they get their eyebrows
so perfect?”

The man standing at the door is a big, burly guy with a belly, but all he's wearing is a pair of jeans and a leather vest.

It's hard to imagine Lucy at this place, but then I think of the bright blue eye shadow I saw her wearing in that picture, and it doesn't seem so impossible.

“IDs,” he growls.

“Uh, for what?” asks Millie.

“Eighteen and up,” he says.

My stomach sinks to my butt. “That's not what the email said,” I tell him.

“Well, that's what I say,” he says.

Hannah pushes past Millie and Amanda. “Listen, we drove here from Clover City. Do you even know where that is?”

He grunts.

“That's right,” she says. “Of course you don't, because it's a sad little town that no one's ever heard of. We drove two hours to get away from that shitter and you can't be telling us it was all for nothing.”

He licks his lips. I almost think she might have cracked him. I mean, look at us. Millie's wearing a polyester pantsuit and Amanda's in a pair of soccer shorts—I think they might even be the same ones she wore yesterday. We don't look like the kind of girls who are capable of drinking the place dry. Well, Hannah might.

“Nope,” he says. “Sorry, kiddies. No can do.”

“But look at this email,” I tell him, like that will
somehow make a difference.

He takes the paper from my hand and his gaze hovers at the top of the page before he says, “This isn't your email address.”

I swallow. “It's my aunt's. Lucy.”

Carefully, he folds the paper and hands it back to me. He pulls four florescent orange wristbands from his vest pocket and fastens them around our wrists.

My mouth drops wide open.

“If any of you even look at the bar, you're out.” He holds my elbow while the others file in. “Lucy was good people.”

I nod and silently thank her for this little bit of magic tonight.

Inside we find a small table off to the side of the stage and far, far away from the bar. The waiter walks by, glances at our wristbands, and brings back four waters.

Millie scoots her chair in close and smooths down her hair. “There a whole mess of men here, don't y'all think?”

Hannah looks around for a moment, and the expression on her face shifts. “Give me that email.”

I lean away from her. “What? Why? No.”

She reaches for my pocket and despite me pushing at her hands, rips it out. Millie and Amanda are in their own world, absorbing their surroundings. Hannah takes a second to glance over the email. “Holy shit,” she says.

The lights begin to dim. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Oh my God. You don't even know, do you?” She smacks her hand on the table, laughter
spurting from her mouth. “Millie,” she says. “Your mama's gonna make you wash your eyes out with soap when you get home tonight.”

Millie's mouth forms an
O
, but that's all I see before the club goes completely dark except for a few runner lights by the bar.

Over the speakers comes a low, sultry voice. “Tramps, vagabonds, ladies, and lords, welcome to Dolly Parton Night at the Hideaway!”

The crowd cheers.

“First to grace our stage tonight is the lovely Miss Candee Disch! Let's make her feel welcome, y'all.”

A spotlight hits center stage on a tall woman with a huge blond wig. She wears a floor-length velvet gown in lime green. Her makeup is exaggerated and her lips are bubbly and drawn on. The music starts and I know the song within only a few notes. “Higher and Higher.”

“Your love has lifted me,” she sings. “Higher, higher, and higher.” Then the tempo speeds up and even though she's straight and lean, her hips appear like magic and she's shaking, working the stage with everything she's got. I am totally taken. So much so that I don't even think to watch for reactions from my friends. I sing along with the song, and not until she's about to walk off the stage do I realize that Hannah is in absolute hysterics.

My eyes have adjusted to the darkness. Millie turns to me, her expression still in that same
O
shape it was in when the lights went down. “Willowdean,” she says. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but that was a man. A very lovely man.”

I glance around. Men holding hands. Girls with their arms around each other.

“This is better than reality TV,” says Amanda.

The crowd applauds as Candee Disch curtsies. “Let's hear it for the iconic Britney Swears!”

Another woman enters from offstage, and I see it now. The rough edge of her square jaw. Her broad shoulders. The stubble beneath her makeup despite her close shave.

This is a drag show.

I sit up straighter in my chair.

My stomach flurries with excitement. For the first time since that night when I sat in the back of Bo's truck, watching the meteor shower, I feel like my life is happening.

“I'm almost impressed,” says Hannah.

We watch as drag queens every shape and size and color give it their all and leave everything they've got on that stage in this dingy little bar out in the middle of West Texas. They all wear sparkling, elaborate costumes with incredible high heels and insane wigs. Each of them is their own brand of beauty. There's even a duo with a woman cross-dressing as Kenny Rogers for a rendition of “Islands in the Stream.”

My favorite, though, is a short Asian queen named Lee Wei. She wears a baby-blue minidress with sequins so long that every time she moves, she's a blur of motion. When the spotlight zeros in on her and the song begins, it only takes one note before the whole bar loses it. “Jolene.”

It's cliché, I know, but if I had to listen to one song for the rest of my life, it would be “Jolene.” Everyone loves it,
but I like to think it takes a special kind of heartbreak to really call the song your own. I mean, Dolly Parton—THE Dolly Parton—is singing to some mysterious Jolene who she thinks is more beautiful and more worthy than her, begging her not to take her man. It's catchy and everyone knows the words, but to me, it's this reminder that no matter who you are, there will always be someone prettier or smarter or thinner. Perfection is nothing more than a phantom shadow we're all chasing. If I could sing worth a lick, this would be the song I'd sing for the pageant.

By the end of the song, I'm wiping away tears I didn't even realize I was shedding.

The four of us leave at the end of the night with this look of wonder plastered to our faces, like we've spent the last few hours sitting too close to the TV.

As we're walking to the van, someone calls to us from the back door. “Hey! Kiddies!”

I turn. It's the bouncer from earlier. “Y'all go on,” I tell Millie, Hannah, and Amanda. “I'll be there in a sec.”

The burly man sits on a stool, holding the back door open with his back. “Name's Dale,” he says. “You enjoy yourself tonight?”

I nod. “I think it's safe to say that this has been a formative experience in my life.”

“Seems like a fair thing to say about most drag shows.”

I nod back to the van. “My friends had fun, too.”

“Lee!” he calls behind him as he stubs out his cigarette beneath his boot. “Honey!”

Lee Wei, the queen who sang “Jolene,” saunters out the
back door. She's even shorter and somehow rounder without her high heels. She looks from me to the bouncer, and smiles, even though she obviously has no idea who I am.

“You 'member Lucy?” Dale asks. “Used to come around here with Suze Dryver.”

El's mom. Oh Jesus. I wish El had been here tonight. It's the only thing that could have made the whole experience even more perfect.

Lee holds her hand to her chest. “Oh, sweet Lucy! Of course I do.” Her voice is deeper than I expect.

“This is her niece,” says Dale.

I nod. “Willowdean.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Lee reaches for my hand. “I am so sorry,” she tells me. “Lucy was a real gem. She had a kind, open heart. We were so sad to see her go.”

“Th-thanks,” I say, and I don't really know why, but I add, “I've been real lost without her. Like, she was this compass I didn't even know I had.”

She nods, and Dale presses his lips together in a thin line. “You email the club's address if you ever need anything,” he says.

Lee steps forward and plants a kiss on my forehead. “There's nothing good about losing someone,” she says. “But maybe Lucy wasn't supposed to be your compass forever. Maybe she was there for you just long enough so you could learn how to be your own compass and find your own way.” She winks at me. “The universe is a strange thing.”

I leave Dale and Lee there at the stage door and hop into
the backseat of the van.

“What did they want?” Amanda asks.

“Just told me not to come back until we're eighteen.”

“You've got lipstick on your forehead,” says Hannah.

“I know.” I want to leave it there forever as a blessing. The last permission I need to be my own role model.