Chapter 9
Iam haunted.
Haunted by my face. Haunted by an idiot in a garage band who hasn't taken a bath since Pluto was a planet. Haunted by what I want.
Is Dinah right? Am I really gay? Is that why I feel especially angry at Byron? Is this like Ms. Easterling realizing she's trans? Maybe I'm a girl too and that's why I feel this way about Felix? I don't know, I'm confused.
Felix flicks my forehead, snapping me out of it.
“Earth to Wade. You've been sitting there like a corpse for ten minutes. Your plastic pizza is cold by now,” he says. I almost forgot I'm at school.
I take a bite and the cold, stale flesh of the pizza zings my two front teeth.
While I chew, Felix tells me about a megachurch in Houston that set up a prayer hotline with three service tiers: a free prayer for the icky poors who have nothing to offer, an “express prayer” that the head pastor will give himself for one hundred and fifty bucks, and a “presidential platinum prayer” that will be performed by the president of the United States himself for $999. 99.
This is the same megachurch Felix's father dragged us to one year to see their grand Christmas pageant with camels and pyrotechnics and a hologram of Jesus Christ. The pastor and his wife talked to him about how we were put on this earth to make money and asked us to give them some.
I pull out Clint's credit card. “Should we let a good opportunity go to waste?”
“Of course not,” Felix says.
“Definitely not!”
Felix records me while I dial the hotline. A lady with a thick Southern accent answers. Of course, I go for the platinum prayer since this is important business.
“My name is Leo Steger. I'm a Vietnam veteran. You've got to help me. My hemorrhoids are possessed. I've got six on the left, six on the right, and six in the very center of my asshole. It's the mark of the beast!”
The line goes dead. We're keeling over in tears. That's definitely getting uploaded to our account.
The bell rings. Before we split up, Felix reminds me that he's required to be at the booth for the coding club at today's activity fair after school, which means I need to stick around if I don't want to walk home again in the nightmare sun.
It also means I'll probably run into the theater mafia, so maybe I'll just hide under the coding booth table until it's over.
I make a brief stop at my locker, where I'm greeted by the word “SCARFACE” written under the number in giant red letters.
I don't even need to guess that it was the In Crowd.
I almost admire the sociopathic dedication to bullying.
Was this the highlight of their dumb day?
Also, it's senior year! I have a comprehensive list of character flaws they could exploit, such as my addiction to peanut butter, and they're still fixated on my face? All because I hurt Bywon's widdle foot.
At the activity fair, I openly, hatefully gawk at Byron from across the room.
He's very aware of it, and after several nasty glances my way, he realizes I'm going to win this game of chicken and avoids staring in my direction.
Eventually, too many students block my view, so I settle for watching old Gorehound Gary videos on my phone.
When Felix takes a break from talking to students, he asks me if I want to hang out at his house tonight.
I honestly dread going over to Felix's. His parents hate me.
His dad gives me the stink eye every chance he gets.
Whenever they're speaking in Spanish around me, they're obviously trashing me because they think I'm a bad influence.
They hate that he likes horror movies, which I admit is my fault.
After we became friends in sixth grade, I made him watch It when we had a sleepover.
His parents were not happy about that. But he loved the movie and became a dedicated horror fan afterward.
I hadn't had somebody to watch horror movies with since my dad died.
We would watch them together all the time. My dad was cool like that.
Right next to the coding club booth, Roland and Aubrey and their friends are standing at their own IntegriTruth Students booth. Students line up, taking flyers from Roland and talking to Aubrey.
“We're like student council, except we're ensuring that the values of IntegriTruth are held up on campus,” Aubrey tells one girl.
My eyes roll so hard they almost fall out of my head.
“One of our most concerning issues is the school musical they plan on performing this year—Pansgender! It's like a gay version of Peter Pan. Everybody is gay or transgender or whatever,” Aubrey goes on.
“I got my hands on a copy of the script,” Roland says, holding a ream of paper up in the air like he found gold. “I'm telling you right now: If they perform this, our school will be lost forever. We're starting a petition for them to pick a more inclusive—and appropriate—show.”
I wonder if Daisha knows this. I hate the theater kids at this point, but if there's anybody I hate more, it's Aubrey Lam and Roland Greenway. And Daisha was nice to me yesterday. I should at least give her a heads-up.
I pull up Aubrey's profile, which is full of glamour shots of her looking wistful in the sunlight and Roland wrapping his arms around her on the beach like they're an expecting married couple.
Even more obnoxious, the words above her photos say “random acts of kindness // dancing in the rain // fluent in sarcasm.”
“She's fluent in speeding tickets,” Felix says.
“If she racks up any more, she'll be Aubrey-on-the-Lam,” I say.
When I get to the theater club booth, Daisha waves. Sweet Mike, Naz, and Meg are next to her. Byron's gone, probably flitting about somewhere on his oh-so-damaged foot.
“Hey! I was glad to see you at the meeting yesterday,” Daisha says. “Are you going to audition for the show? I'll only accept yes as an answer.”
“The queen of Spain called it—” Sweet Mike starts to say.
“The greatest musical of all time. Yeah. Got it. Uh, listen. Roland and Aubrey are openly bragging about getting the show canceled. They've even started a petition,” I tell them, cutting out the pleasantries.
“Really?” Daisha frowns. “I guess I'm not shocked. Where are they?”
I point out the IntegriTruth Students table on the other side of the room.
“All right. I'll do some reconnaissance,” she says, leaving the others at the table.
“Good SAT word, by the way,” Sweet Mike says.
“They can't cancel the show,” Meg says. “We got that Broadway grant!”
“Not to mention, an agent is coming all the way from LA to see Byron play Captain Hook. Some Hollywood bigwig named Viola Maguire. His mom went to school with her, so they go way back,” Naz adds.
“The musical hasn't even been cast yet. How do you know Byron's playing Captain Hook?” I ask.
All of them gasp.
“Don't ask stupid questions!” Naz says.
“Quiet or he'll hear you,” Sweet Mike insists, nodding at Byron's presence over twenty feet away.
“Captain Hook is a fabulously dressed pirate who blossoms into a beautiful trans woman. The role screams Byron Murphee,” Naz says. “He's the best actor I've ever met. I truly believe once he gets to LA, he's going to make it.”
“Byron is moving to LA after graduation?” I ask.
Naz nods. “I plan on going to a conservatory myself, but if I had Byron's confidence, I'd throw caution to the wind and go straight to Hollywood. Of course, he needs that agent first. Without that, getting your foot in the door is harder, even if you're that talented.”
Again, I think about the Gorehound Gary video on the beach. The weather is so nice there. Not gross and humid or even stormy like here. And it's a content creator's paradise. But you need an agent to be successful?
“Gotcha.” I wave and start for the exit. “Good luck with the whole Roland and Aubrey thing.”